


Come With Me

by armyofbees



Series: dust of june [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Diners, Fluff and Angst, Henry Laurens' A+ Parenting, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Nonbinary Character, POV Alternating, Panic Attacks, Pining, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed, they're so awkward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2018-10-10 07:12:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 72,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10432002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armyofbees/pseuds/armyofbees
Summary: Henry Laurens imagines a very specific future for his son. John disagrees. When Henry kicks him out, his future is uncertain, made only more so when he meets one Alexander Hamilton, whom he drags into a cross-country adventure. Who knows where the future is going to get him? With Alex next to him, who cares?





	1. "Excuse you? You're the one who sat at my fucking table."

**Author's Note:**

> All the places mentioned are painstakingly checked out (via Google Maps) and true to reality. Well, except the diner in the beginning and the fact that Mount Vernon is more of a park than anything, but I made do. Anything I couldn't get pictures of, I approximated based on reviews. I'm sorry if I am completely inaccurate to where you live.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is tired, gets punched in the face, and drags his assailant on a road trip across the US.

John parked his car outside of a tiny diner. It looked like something straight out of the fifties, save for the tiny rainbow flag in the corner of the window, with the words _safe space_ printed under it. John took a moment to stretch his legs before entering. He’d been driving for–God–six hours already, without having moved from the driver’s seat once.

His muscles screamed in protest as he pushed through the door, the tinny sound of a bell ringing out above his head. The inside of the diner was quaint–a counter with round barstools, little tables scattered over the open floor, and another counter running flush with the window.

John took a seat at a tiny two-person table near the back, placed his order, and pulled out his phone. He’d been pointedly ignoring it for the entire drive, refusing to look at it even to check the time. He’d silenced it completely, and it had worked. He’d been able to get out, almost guiltlessly. Almost.

There were about a hundred texts from both his father and his siblings–Martha especially. He had eighty-nine missed calls. Eighty-nine. He wondered how many would’ve been screaming matches, and if any could have possibly ended civilly. Probably not.

He’d been fuming for the first half of the drive, but after another three hours he was just tired. He was tired of his father’s expectations, his constant monitoring and need to be in control, the fact that _every damn thing was John’s fault._  John was exhausted.

So exhausted, in fact, that after his food came and he fell into the pattern of _pick up a fry, delete a message, pick up another fry, delete a voicemail,_  he didn’t even notice a person dropping into the seat across from him, pulling out a laptop, and beginning to type furiously.

That is, until a waitress came over and asked if he would be ordering today. Both of them looked up, John in confusion, and the other guy with a warm smile, the word _coffee_ already on his lips. The waitress left after another moment, and that was when the guy noticed John staring at him.

John also realized he had been openly staring because _oh God would you look at those eyes,_ and quickly rearranged his facial expression to a questioning one.

Instead of apologizing and moving, like John expected any normal human being would’ve, the guy asked, “What are you doing at my table?”

John was rendered speechless for a moment. This kid had the _audacity_ to sit down and interrupt his (well-deserved) lunch, then ask what _he_ was doing there. Even if the guy was unreasonably attractive, it was still incredibly rude. Eventually, he managed an affronted “Excuse me?”

“Excuse _you_?” the guy asked, looking up. His face went slack with surprise for a moment before it morphed into an annoyed expression. “You’re the one who sat at my fucking table.”

John stared at him for a moment. “You’ve been here for all of what, three minutes? It’s my fucking table. It was empty when I got here.” They could probably have settled the matter civilly, but John was tired and feeling argumentative. Sue him.

The guy didn’t seem to want to drop it, either. “Bullshit. You weren’t here when I sat down.”

“Yes I was,” John snapped. “You’re just too oblivious to have noticed.”

At that, the guy stood up abruptly, his chair falling over with a loud _clang._ The few patrons left after the lunch rush looked up nervously, and the waitress made her way over calmly. “Alex, I’m gonna have to ask you to take this outside. Fighting isn’t permitted, so you either settle this civilly, or you don’t get your coffee.”

The guy, Alex, waved her off. “Fine, sorry.” He sat back down, and John could almost _see_ him putting a lid on his anger. Alex turned to him. “I’m sorry, but there is no way that I just… missed you.”

John raised an eyebrow. “I dunno, you seemed a little consumed by your work.”

“Yeah, but I still have _eyes._ ”

“Still.” John held up his food. “I got this somehow.”

Alex narrowed his eyes. “You can carry those little baskets around with you, dumbass.”

“Why would I even sit down at your table, anyway?” John was getting more and more fed up by the minute. Honestly, it was kind of a nice distraction, but he was _tired._ “Please, just go away.”

Alex sneered. “That was rude.”

“You’re the one who’s demanding I give up my goddamn table.”

“It is _not_ your table!”

“It totally is, you’re just so fucking _clueless–”_

John didn’t see the fist coming. At some point, Alex had stood up, so he already had the height advantage when his punch hit John’s nose. John could feel blood begin to run–down his face, through his veins, in his ears, so he couldn’t hear the waitress talking. She caught him as he lunged at Alex and dragged them outside.

Alex stood petulantly to the side, arms crossed, as John nursed his nose with a tissue. After a few minutes of expectant staring (both wanted an apology, neither was going to get one), John relented. “That may have been uncalled for.” Alex raised an eyebrow. “The fight, I mean. I stand by the point I was there first, but I shouldn’t have yelled. I just… A lot’s been goin’ on.” John bit his tongue before he could say anything else–he had an annoying habit of running his mouth.

Alex just shrugged. “Yeah, it was uncalled for, but thanks for letting me punch something, honestly. Do you have any idea how frustrating republicans are?”

John stared at him for a moment before he burst out laughing. He didn’t know how long the moment lasted, but after a while he was bent double with his stomach cramping and tears streaming down his face. Alex was staring at him, looking slightly horrified.

“Sorry, I… I just… _God_ …” John shook his head and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “You have _no_ idea.” When he looked up next, Alex was smiling.

“What’s your name?”

The question caught John off guard. It occurred to him suddenly that Alex hadn’t told him his name, either. “Um, John.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Okay, _John._ ” He held out a hand. “Alexander Hamilton. You got a last name to go with that, or…?”

John took his hand, then rubbed his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, I just…” Alex had been complaining about politics. There was only one way this could go. “You’re not gonna like it.”

“Try me.”

“John Laurens.”

Without missing a beat, Alex replied, “Well, John Laurens, your dad sucks, but you seem pretty okay.”

That gave John a moment’s pause. Usually, there was a _the son of Henry Laurens? Oh._ After a second, though, he smiled. “Thanks, Alexander Hamilton. You don’t seem so bad yourself, except, well…” He gestured to his nose, which still had a tissue pressed against it.

Alex smirked. “So what’s got John Laurens all the way up in Virginia?” His question was meant to be completely harmless, but John could feel his stomach drop through his shoes. Alex must’ve read his expression because he nodded quickly and said, “A lot’s been going on. Right.” John smiled gratefully and Alex continued, “I’m in Mt. Vernon visiting my foster parents. Came home for a few weeks in the summer, try to take a break and everything. As it turns out, I suck at taking breaks, though. I’ve been working on my law essay the whole time I’ve been here.”

“Is that what had you so distracted in the diner?”

Alex nodded. “Yeah, but not so distracted that I would’ve missed someone like _you."_  After a moment, his smile (which he hadn’t dropped throughout his entire story) suddenly faltered, like he’d said something wrong.

 _Someone like me?_ John decided not to voice that particular thought. “Sure, darlin’. Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

Alex stared for a moment (had John really said something so unbelievable? He supposed his accent had been strong), then his smile was back full-force.  “I will. But I gotta get back to my essay now. It was nice to meet you, John Laurens.”

John raised an eyebrow skeptically. No way was Alex getting out of this so easily. “Alexander, would you consider Virginia a Southern state?”

He considered for a moment, then answered, “It was on the Confederate side of the Civil War.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“Yes.”

John smiled brightly. “Good, then while you’re here, you can exhibit some Southern hospitality and buy me a coffee. You know, for my nose.” The guy was cute and John wanted coffee and to get to know him better. He would use whatever guilt trips he wanted.

Alex hesitated for only a moment before caving. “Fine, but then I need to work.”

“Deal,” John agreed as he followed Alex back inside. “But I’m just sayin’, it’s only June…”

“Yeah, and I need all summer to finish this. Now shut up and let me order your goddamn coffee.”

A few minutes later, they settled back at John’s table. The waitress watched them suspiciously for a moment, but when there seemed to be no sign of animosity, she turned back to the order she was taking.

“So you’re in law school?” John asked, swirling a spoon in his coffee absently.

“Yep. At Columbia.” Alex glanced at him. “You’re law too, right? I read somewhere that your dad wanted his kids to follow in his footsteps.”

John snorted. “I _was_ law.” With those three words, he knew he’d said too much, but he barreled onward anyway. “Dad took issue with my preferences and kicked me out, so I dunno what I’m gonna do without his funding. I don’t exactly have a job.”

Alex took all of this in stride. “Preferences?”

“I wanted to go to med school.” John hesitated, weighing all of the pros and cons and what-ifs… “I guess he was also a little disappointed that his eldest son is gay.”

That earned a whistle from Alex. “Yikes. Sorry, man. Well, if you’re looking on getting away from your dad, then New York’s got lots of jobs and colleges and shit.”

John nodded. “At some point. Right now, I guess…” He trailed off, not knowing exactly what he was planning to say. “I saved up money, so I have enough to get by. I just… I dunno.” He broke off. He didn’t want to spill life plans to Alex. Hell, he barely knew the guy at all.

“No, what is it?” Alex’s tone was of genuine interest.

“I just wanna see the world. On my own terms, you know? Not with my dad’s influence or… whatever…”

Alex nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, totally. Everything comes through in a new light when you’re not in someone–or some _thing_ –else’s shadow.”

“You’ve had experience with this?” John ate a fry, and if eating a fry could look quizzical, he’d done it. He must’ve said something wrong, because Alex’s expression became instantly more guarded. John held up his hands and began to backtrack. “Sorry, I shouldn’t’ve–that was–”

“Yeah,” Alex said shortly. “Anyway, you said coffee, right?”

John gave a tentative smile. “Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

One coffee and a more mindless conversation later, Alex gestured to his computer. “I should really, you know…”

He had to be kidding. They’d just been talking about following your dreams; letting loose and exploring the world around you. Living in the moment. And yet, the moment he had the chance, Alex was slipping back into work.

John knew that school was important, but the extent to which Alex seemed to pour himself into it was excessive. And just like that, John had an (admittedly insane) idea.

“Come with me,” he said suddenly. Alex stared. John began to fidget nervously with his sleeve. “I was heading north, but I wanna see the west coast, ’cause of Seattle and stuff… We could–nevermind.” He stared at his coffee. “I’ll just–”

“No, no, no, wait!” Alex seemed to jerk back to reality. “Sorry, I just–I’d love–I’d like to, but I… school, work, other… stuff…” He trailed off as John’s face grew incredulous. Alex’s hands came down on the edge of the table and he pushed his chair back as he stood up. “You know what? Okay. Let’s go.”

John’s face gradually brightened. A smile broke out on his lips. “Really?”

Alex picked up his bag. “Yeah, ’course. Now hurry up, before I change my mind.”

John’s smile grew. “Hurrying.” He paid for the food, despite Alex’s protests, promising him that they would split the travel and housing costs for the trip.

Once they reached John’s car (“Holy shit, this is _yours?_ Oh, yeah, senator’s son.”), Alex turned to look at him. “Where to?”

“Where do you live?” At Alex’s odd look, he rolled his eyes. “I figured you’d like to have a change of clothes and maybe, I dunno, a toothbrush.”

Alex’s mouth formed a small _o,_  which was, admittedly, adorable. “Yeah, right, I–I knew that.”

“’Course you did. C’mon, address?”

 

* * *

 

Alex, as it turned out, was staying with George Washington. John assured him that he didn’t, in fact, need to meet him. He didn’t want his dad finding out where he was.

When they were finally settled in and on the road, Alex repeated his question from earlier, “So, where to?”

John let out a breath and adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “I’m not sure. I think–” He broke off as Alex took in an excited breath and twisted around in his seat. After a moment of rooting around in the back, he turned back to John, his searching apparently fruitless.

“We’ll need to stop later so I can find my notebook,” he said, glancing across the dashboard and reaching over to grab an old coffee shop napkin. He pulled a pen from his pocket and clicked it. “We’ll need a plan.”

John felt the corners of his mouth beginning to tug into the beginnings of another smile. “Alright. So, endgame is Seattle.”

Alex nodded and jotted something at the bottom of the napkin. “So, we head up through Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, Minnesota, North Dakota, Montana, and then to Washington.”

John stuck his tongue out. “No way. That’s like, the most direct route. It’ll take us maybe three days. I’m making you take a break, not letting you rush through the states as fast as you can before getting back to work.”

Alex held up his hands in surrender. “Sure. So where are we headed now?”

“Alexander Hamilton, have you ever been to see the National Dance Museum?” John asked, smirking a little.

“Um.” Alex seemed a little stumped. “No, can’t say I have.”

“Good, neither have I. It’s just outside Albany.” John’s smile was broad as he switched lanes.

Alex pulled out his phone and pulled up a map. “Our budget isn’t super high, is it?” he asked, and John nodded.

“We’re zig-zagging across the States with my savings and whatever you brought along. We’re not high-maintenance.” Alex made a show of doubtfully examining John’s hair and John swatted at him. “Asshole.”

“ _Anyway,”_ Alex chuckled, “there’s a one-star motel in Saratoga Springs, near the museum.”

“Okay, maybe a _bit_ more high-maintenance than _that._ ”

“You sure?” Alex tapped at his phone. “It sounds to me like we’re gonna be staying a lot of places, so maybe skimping a little on the quality would be a good idea.”

John let out a sigh. “Fine, sure, whatever.”

“Aw, Princess Laurens is having second thoughts? He needs his beauty sleep and expensive soap to maintain that perfect face and hair?” Alexander’s tone was teasing, but John could feel his face heating up. What had he gotten himself into?

“Princess Laurens is having second thoughts about inviting _you,_ ” John shot back. “It’s not his fault that Mister Hamilton is used to maintaining his good looks with the meager supplies provided to commoners.”

Alex grinned wolfishly, then held up a finger. “Okay, off topic, but your phone has been going off non-stop since we got into this car.”

John felt his breath catch in his throat. “Yeah.” His voice was croaky. He coughed. “Yeah,” he tried again. “It’s been six hours and they… They just won’t quit?”

Understanding dawned on Alex’s face and he pointed at the screen. “Martha looks like she’s saying something important.”

“Don’t read my texts,” John’s tone was clipped.

Alex waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Family drama, whatever, but this actually looks _important._ ”

“Alex…” John’s voice was downright dangerous.

“Listen–”

“Alexander–”

“‘Look, I know you’re not coming home, but at least ditch your phone,’” Alex read.

“ _Alexander–_ ”

“‘Dad’s tracking it,’” Alex finished. John froze. “See?” John nodded slowly. “Sorry for reading your texts, but you weren’t about to.”

John just nodded again. He didn’t trust his voice. He thought he’d come to expect the worst from his father, but every time, Henry Laurens found a way to surprise him. At this point, they were on the interstate, but John pulled over anyway. There were a few honks as he cut across lanes, but he ignored them. Once the car was stopped, he stood mechanically and got out of the car.

“John?” Alex’s tone was so worried, so fierce, so _Alex,_ that John didn’t deserve to be the recipient of it. He shouldn’t even know that tone, having only known Alex for maybe two hours.

John’s brow furrowed as he stared at the phone. He had more missed calls. He wondered…

“John?” Alex asked again, and John made his decision. He clicked _call._

His dad picked up before the first ring had finished. “Jack?”

John could feel himself visibly flinch at the nickname. He vaguely registered Alex’s hand on his arm. “Henry.” John could feel himself growing more distant, more icy.

“Jack, come home right now.” Henry Laurens’ voice was pure fury. John had to steady his breathing before he could reply.

“I’m leaving,” he said, his voice surprisingly even. “Don’t try to follow me, see me, or contact me.”

“Jack–” He hung up before his father could finish his sentence. And suddenly, he couldn’t breathe.

John Laurens collapsed on the side of the interstate. Alex went down with him, softening his landing and enveloping him in a hug. John couldn’t find it in himself to care that he’d only met Alex that day and that he already knew more of John’s story than most anyone else. John let himself cry into Alex’s shirt. He let himself fall apart in this stranger’s arms.


	2. "You're just another part of the crazy."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Alex deal with a shitty motel, Chinese food being problematic, and having the most awkward of conversations. In public.

Alex looked over at the huddled figure beside him, examining John until there was a honk and he returned his eyes to the road. After John’s breakdown on the side of the freeway, he’d held him for a good ten minutes. When John’s breathing had begun to slow down, Alex had suggested that they get back on the road. He took over driving, which allowed John to put on his headphones, borrow Alex’s phone for music, and sleep.

Well, Alex assumed he was asleep. He hadn’t moved or spoken since Alex had started driving, and they were nearly to the Design Motel. It was just after nine o’clock and the sun had set.

Before he’d given his phone to John, Alex had called ahead to make sure there was an open room, so at least that was one variable out of the way. Other than that, though, Alex had no idea how this trip would go. He’d known John for, what, six, eight hours? And most of that John had been sleeping. John was intelligent, charismatic, attractive, and right on Alex’s frequency. But he was also damaged.

Alex didn’t trust himself with much, and ‘much’ included damaged, beautiful people like John Laurens. He would fuck this up somehow, he knew. God, why had he even agreed to this in the first place?

If he was honest, it was probably because of the way excitement lit up John’s whole face like the sun.

Oh, Alex knew he was screwed. He’d agreed to a God-knows-how-long road trip across the United States with an emotionally compromised guy who he just happened to immediately click with, and who he also seemed to be acquiring a crush on. The absurdity of it caused a soft laugh to erupt from him. He was like a teenager, with a crush on some guy he’d met less than a day ago.

“Whasso funny?” John’s sleepy voice asked.

 _Shit._ “Um, nothing,” Alex fumbled. “I mean. I guess this whole situation is a little comical, don’t you think?” John’s eyebrows knit in a way that made him look adorably confused. _Alexander Hamilton, get your head in the game!_ “I mean, not you getting kicked out or… I mean like, we met maybe eight hours ago and here we are, in Albany, going to a dance museum and staying in the crappiest motel we could find.”

John’s laugh was soft and raspy, and Alex thought it sounded like summer. _Hamilton._ “Yeah, I guess it is,” John agreed. He yawned. “Speaking of which, how far from the motel are we?”

 _“Mom, are we there yet? ”_ Alex teased. It earned him a half-hearted punch to the arm. “We should be there in about ten minutes. Hope you didn’t get too much sleep in the car. If you stay up all night, I’ll– well, actually, I’ll probably stay up with you because insomnia’s a bitch, but I’ll be annoyed about it because you’ll be tired tomorrow.”

“I need my beauty sleep, like you said,” John offered a small smile. “I don’t think I’ll have an issue sleeping. I’m exhausted.”

“Well, be sure to get enough rest. We’re going to that dance museum. And then, let’s head up towards Maine.”

“What’s in Maine?”

“Do you _know_ how many seaside marine museums there are in Maine?”

“Touché.”

They continued with easy conversation until Alex pulled up in front of a low one-story building with three other cars parked out front. He left John in the car and pushed the door to the office open. Inside, a woman sat behind a desk, looking harried.

“Sorry to come in so late,” Alex said apologetically. The woman just shrugged. “My friend and I need a room.”

“We’ve got three two-person rooms open.”

“We’ll only be staying the night,” Alex assured her. “Any of those will work.”

She handed him a key. “Number six. The rate’s seventy dollars for one night. Check out is eleven.”

Alex rooted around in his wallet for a moment before handing over four twenties. She gave him back a ten and nodded. “Thanks.”

Outside, John was rooting through the backseat. Alex came up beside him and leaned against the car. “We shouldn’t get comfy–we’ll be leaving tomorrow, right?”

“Right.” John stood back with a change of clothes, toiletries, and a book. Alex found his own clothes and his notebook.

Their room was tiny, with awful beige wallpaper and thin carpet. The ceiling had stains and cracks on it, and Alex was more than a little worried that it was going to collapse in on itself. John stared around in wonder as he set his clothes on the small bed. There was a radiator and an old fan in the open window. It was, altogether, entirely dingy.

John made a small noise of amazement. Alex laughed. “Have you never seen a motel before?”

“Pfft. You think my dad would book us someplace like _this?_ ” John pulled open the door to the bathroom and made a horrified noise. Alex wandered up behind him and didn’t realize that his entire front was pressed against John until he felt John stiffen.

Alex’s reaction was cut off as he caught sight of the bathroom. If the room was dingy, the bathroom was downright disgusting. The floor looked slightly abused and dirty. The shower had spots of mold in between the pink-white tiles, and John’s lip curled when he caught sight of a roach stuck in the drain. The sink was just as repulsive, but, luckily, the water seemed clean.

“Christ,” John whispered.

Alex nodded. “C’mon, pretty boy. Here’s to not booking one-star motels anymore? I’m not touching that shower.”

“No way,” John agreed, and Alex steered him back towards the beds.

“Feeling hungry?” Alex asked. John shrugged. “I’ll run out and get Chinese, you get settled in and change, alright?”

John nodded. “If they have egg rolls, you will get ten,” he said seriously.

Alex smiled slowly. “Got it. Ten egg rolls.”

He found a little Chinese place ten minutes from the hotel, picked up ten egg rolls and a couple of entreés, and grabbed one of his blankets from the car on his way back to the room. When he opened the door, John was sprawled across one of the beds, his book–sketchbook–laid out in front of him and pencil in hand.

“Got a royal feast for Princess Laurens,” Alex announced, setting the Chinese on the non-occupied bed.

John gave him a smile. “Thank you, Mister Hamilton. The princess is looking forward to his ten egg rolls.” He caught the bag Alex tossed him, and laughed loudly when he looked inside. “Holy crap, you actually got me ten egg rolls.”

“Of course, milady.” Alex opened the other bags. “Okay, so, let’s buffet this.”

The food was laid out on the bed and John came to sit next to him. The bed was only a full, so there wasn’t a whole lot of room. Not that Alex was complaining when John had to lean against him to fit.

It sort of became a problem when Alex reached over and stole one of John’s egg rolls, and the ensuing grappling match sent rice and dumpling broth spilling onto the bed. Alex stared at the sheets. John just laughed.

“I’ve already claimed the other bed!”

Alex stared at him disbelievingly. _“Monster._ This is _inhumane–”_

“Hey, I’m the princess here.” John poked him in the side. Alex took a defiant bite of the egg roll.

By the time they’d cleaned up as much of the spilled food as possible and finished eating the rest, it was eleven thirty. Alex sighed and looked forlornly at his ruined bedsheets.

“We could just ask to switch rooms,” John suggested.

Alex shot him a look. “It’s almost midnight. No way in hell would they put up with that.”

“Worth a shot.”

Alex glanced over at John. He was toying with the sheets, his gaze unfocused. He looked completely exhausted. The way the lamplight framed him was breathtaking–Alex mentally hit himself. _It’s been like, less than twelve hours. Get yourself together._ It took him a moment to realize John had noticed his staring.

“What?” John asked.

Alex shook his head quickly. “Nothing. You just look tired is all. We should get some sleep.”

John nodded. “Have fun with your Chinese food-scented sheets.”

“Screw you.”

John gave a lopsided smile and dropped down on his own bed. Alex looked doubtfully at his sheets for a moment before standing, grabbing his (untainted) blanket, and worming his way under the sheets next to John.

“What do you think you’re doing?” John’s tone was too sleep-addled to be truly accusatory.

“Sleeping,” Alex replied. He then turned over and attempted sleep.

Alex was a little disappointed in himself–he was good at maybe three things, and sleeping was _not_ one of them. He was also faced with the dilemma of the fact that _the bed was not very big._ As soon as John’s breathing evened, Alex couldn’t so much as move without disturbing him.

He perched himself at the edge of the bed and tried to sleep. John was cute, but John was also delicate and Alex would shatter him. John didn’t seem to think so, though, because after a few awkward minutes of Alex trying not to fall off the bed, his arms snaked out and pulled Alex back towards him.

Alex stiffened a little bit as John hugged him back into bed, but it was hard to stay awake when he was that warm and the bed was so soft and John was so _there._ When he drifted off, he felt safe.

 

* * *

 

Consciousness came slowly, and with it, a chill. Alex shivered and rolled over, reaching for the source of warmth, which was rapidly retreated. As his fingers brushed skin, memories flooded back. _Oh, fu–_

“Alex, sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” John said. Alex opened his eyes and tried not to notice the way John’s shirt rode up. John rubbed at the back of his neck, cheeks flushed. “Also, sorry for, um… y’know. Last night. I must have made you uncomfortable. I made things weird, didn’t I? Sorry, ah, I can drop you back in Mt. Vernon. It won’t happen again. Well, yeah, because you’ll be back in Mt. Vernon. Um. Also, sorry for crying on you and all that, I shouldn’t’ve piled all that shit on you, I don’t know–”

“I’m bi,” Alex blurted suddenly. He didn’t know what made him say it. He didn’t know where his train of thought was going. He didn’t know what he was going to say next, so he just started talking. Hopefully his brain would work faster than his mouth. Hopefully. “So, you know, it’s fine. I’m not one of those weird straight boys who just flirts with other guys but gets weirded out about gay things, y’know? I mean, not that I was flirting. Or. Anything. I guess it was flirting, but like, friend flirting? Are we friends? We’ve known each other for less than a day, but you basically kidnapped me, so. Um.” _Curse you, shitty head machine. You’ve failed me again._

John stared for a moment before he began shaking his head slowly, a smile growing on his face. “I feel like this whole trip is gonna be a lot easier if we’re friends. Hard to say, ‘Oh, yeah, I’m here with my acquaintance who I met in Virginia. We’re going across the US together.’ We’d get some interesting reactions, though.”

Alex flopped onto his back and threw an arm over his eyes. “Friends it is.” A pause. “God, I’m so embarrassing.”

“Dude, I dragged you into an impromptu spooning session.”

“I just asked you if we were flirting.”

John’s eyes glinted. “Were we?”

Alex hit him with a pillow. “Asshole. You tell me, I asked first.” And, okay, maybe Alex was actually interested in the answer. It wasn’t like he had to tell John that.

“We definitely were,” John decided. He rolled out of bed and gestured to the bathroom. “I’m gonna go try not to die, and then we’re getting the hell outta here.”

Alex waved a hand and closed his eyes. Waking up was overrated, even if it was next to Freckled Menace John Laurens. Though the clock told him that it was eight in the morning, so maybe, by the barest extremes of sense, getting up _would_ be a good idea.

He changed quickly and got out his phone to research the museum until John emerged from the bathroom. “Hey, it’s Sunday, right?” John nodded. “We have four hours to kill before we can go see the museum.”

John whistled. “Well, first things first: breakfast. Then we can worry about the rest.”

Breakfast was held at a cute place called the Iron Roost. The food was a little more expensive than Alex would’ve considered normal for breakfast, but it was so good it felt like the world was repaying them for their shitty motel experience.

He kept stealing glances at John over his stack of waffles, and while he knew that John would notice eventually and he should probably stop, Alex was still slightly incredulous. He had, somehow, been looped into taking a cross country trip with the recently estranged son of Senator Henry Laurens, who he’d also developed some sort of crush on, and they’d be stuck in close-quarters for however long they decided to drag it out. It didn’t matter how many times he went over it in his head, it sounded just as crazy.

His thoughts faltered when he noticed John watching him with a raised eyebrow. “Alex?”

“Sorry, just going over this whole scenario in my head,” Alex said. “It’s a little insane.”

John pointed his fork at him. “You said that last night, too.” He paused and swirled a strawberry in some whipped cream contemplatively. “I guess… My whole life’s been a little insane lately, y’know? Addin’ you on… You’re just another part of the crazy.”

“Wow, thanks, I don’t feel marginalized at _a–”_

“You know that’s not what I mean, asshat,” John jabbed his fork dangerously close to Alex’s face, but they were both snickering. “I mean… You’re like…” John shook his head and let out a nervous peal of laughter. “Man, it sounds fucking stupid, because we’ve known each other maybe eighteen hours, but–” He broke off and covered his face with his hands. Alex only needed to see his ears to know he was flushed head to toe.

Alex, with his complete and utter lack of a sense of self-preservation, teased, “Aw, if you’ve got a crush on me, all you gotta do is _say.”_

John slumped over onto the table and hid his face in his arms. “Shut your mouth, dumbass,” came the muffled reply. Alex laughed. “What I was _trying_ to say,” John continued, head still buried in his arm-fortress, “is that you already seem like a steady presence, and like, I don’t get attached easily, and I’m not saying that I’m attached to you, but I’m saying I very easily _could_ be, which is both terrifying but also a little… reassuring?”

Alex, for once, was at a loss for words. All he could manage was a whispered “oh.”

John’s head came up, his eyebrows knit and panic flaring in his eyes. “Oh, shit, I’m so sorry, I’m such an imbeci–”

“No, no, no!” Alex waved his hands frantically. By this point, they were getting incredibly odd looks from the other patrons. “Sorry, I just… Wow. Um. I guess, I wouldn’t be adverse to that? Being attached, I mean. Wait, no, that’s not what I mean.” It was Alex’s turn to hide his face. “I mean, being friends. Like, after this whole… thing.”

John sat back and clapped his hands once. “Awesome. Now that that’s done with, eat your fucking waffles.”

Alex laughed awkwardly and silenced himself with a waffle. The other patrons turned slowly back to their food, and soon the place was buzzing once again with an easy energy.

“Jesus, we’re so embarrassing,” John muttered, poking at his strawberries.

“We’re embarrassing _together,”_ Alex said, smiling wide. John snorted and flicked whipped cream at him.

“Whatever, dumbass.” They ate in silence for a moment. “What time is it?”

Alex batted his eyes. “Are you really so eager to be rid of me?”

“I’d have to drive six hours just to get rid of you,” John shot back. “I just want to know what all we can do before we go to the museum and have to leave.”

“I mean, we _could_ stay longer…”

“I’m not dealing with any other motels in this place,” John snapped. “Now–time.”

“Nine-thirty-ish.”

John nodded slowly, finished his strawberries, then headed up to the counter to pay. Alex watched him for a moment, then pulled out his phone. He’d just do a quick scan of Twitter, then check out fun places in Saratoga Springs, he thought. Of course, that was before the first post from the New York Times caught his eye, and John sat back down across from him.

“You good?”

“Hm?” Alex glanced up. “Yeah, I was just…” He slid the phone across the table and watched John’s face fall. _Oh, Laurens._

“These are…”

“About you, yeah,” Alex said slowly. “Listen, I was gonna check out places we could go in Saratoga–” John was already standing, walking quickly out of the restaurant. Alex followed. “John–”

“Stop. Just.” John collapsed against his car, head resting against his arms on the roof. He let out a long, unsteady breath. “I’m–” He just shook his head.

Alex stood back for a moment, then placed a hand on John’s arm. “Hey. John.”

John turned his head slowly. “Yeah?” His voice was small, watery.

“Let’s go to the park? We can take a walk.” Alex tugged on John’s sleeve a little and opened the door for him. John nodded once, then slipped into the car.

Congress Park was about fifteen minutes by car, and Alex held John’s hand over the console the whole drive. John didn’t say anything about it, and Alex wasn’t complaining. The park was pretty and open, and Alex and John walked for a while. They found a bench near a pond with a fountain and sat, still holding hands. John’s breathing had evened out along the way, and Alex let himself relax a little.

“Thanks,” John murmured.

“You good?”

“Yeah, I–” John shook his head. “No,” he said softly. “No, I’m not, but I’m good enough to pull through. I’m just. I’m not gonna worry about all that shit. That doesn’t matter here.”

“How do you mean?”

“It matters there. Out in the world. But not… here. In this world, with you, on this stupid trip.” John stared down at their conjoined hands and Alex examined the crease in his brow and the way his hair danced in the wind. “As long as I’m here, with you, just seeing what tomorrow brings, I’m good.”

Alex smiled and gently squeezed John’s hand. What was there to say to that? _Thanks_ didn’t seem adequate. He settled for giving John’s hand one more squeeze and then turning his gaze out into the park. It seemed good enough for John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Design Motel is a real place, and it is just as awful as I have depicted (according to the reviews, at least). I pity all those who enter there. On another note, my updating schedule is officially not a schedule: it's just whenever I finish my buffer chapter. So, the next one might come tomorrow (doubtful), or might come in a week. I really don't know. My deepest apologies.


	3. “It’s not like you had breakdowns that you couldn’t help and were totally called for, or anything. I mean, I totally didn’t break down every few days when my dad walked out on us.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein John is a classical music nerd, Alex enjoys low-quality things, and Washington has some bad news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things: first, heed the tags, please. This is not a very happy story right now, and while that will change in the future, that future is still far away. John isn't doing too well, and Alex isn't great himself. They're practically professional wrecks. Just... keep that in mind, and read the tags. Also, let me know if I don't tag anything important! I'm really bad at tagging, so any help is appreciated.  
> Secondly, no, I don't know why all my chapters start/end sadly. That'll change in the future. But like I said, that's still far on the horizon.

John barely remembered the museum. He remembered the way Alex’s eyes sparkled when he pointed something out, the way the pointe shoes shone under the bright lights, the way he’d spent ten minutes just staring at the male ballet dancers’ section. He remembered that he’d been on the brink of tears the whole time—every time things began to seem okay, the headlines came back to him—and when Alex asked if he wanted to be a dancer, he’d broke down on the spot. He remembered Alex holding his shoulders as they finished out the visit, Alex ushering him to the car afterward, Alex whispering assurances, Alex playing soft music, Alex being okay.

 _God,_  John was so fucking tired. It had been two days of non-stop exhaustion, and he just wanted it to _end._ He didn’t know when he fell asleep, but when he woke up, the music was gone, the sun was sinking on the horizon, and Alex was talking quietly into his phone.

“Okay, thanks. Yeah, that works. And breakfast starts—great. Thanks, we’ll be there in about forty minutes.” Alex tapped his phone, set it in one of the cupholders, then jumped a little as he noticed John. “Oh, morning, princess.”

John mustered a smile. “Morning.” He glanced at the clock. “Or—late afternoon.”

Alex smiled, too. “It’s about four. I stopped for lunch at about two. Got you some Chipotle, if you’re up for it.”

John disentangled his arms from the blanket that Alex must have draped on him and made grabby hands. “I’m starving.” Alex chuckled and handed him a bag. In it was a burrito and chips.

“I didn’t know what you wanted, so I approximated,” Alex said apologetically.

John took a tentative bite of the burrito, then let out a muffled “oh my God” and pressed his free hand to his chest. Alex looked slightly concerned, turning his attention from the road for a second. “This is amazing!”

Alex scoffed and glanced back at the traffic. “You’re a dumbass.”

“Excuse you, I was going to law school. I’ve heard that takes some semblance of intelligence.”

“Yeah, yeah. Doesn’t show much.” Alex flashed a grin and patted John’s arm. “Just eat, and don’t distract me from the road.”

John grumbled a little, but the burrito was calling his name. The rest of the drive was relatively quiet, save for when John grabbed Alex’s phone to plug it in and play music.

“What _is_ this?” Alex asked skeptically.

“My Spotify playlist?” John’s music taste was, for one, extremely eclectic, and, for another, incredibly dorky at some points. But it was all good. Just… a little hipster, a little different.

“Is this fucking Mozart?” Alex asked at one point, twisting to grab the phone. John held it just out of reach—no way was he letting Alex skip Holst.

“Actually, it’s a British composer named Gustav Holst. He wrote songs about the solar system. This one’s called Jupiter.” John stuck his tongue out at Alex.

“How very… scholarly.” Alex was smiling, though. John could almost mistake his expression for one of fondness.

The street outside of the Inn at St John was relatively barren, with a couple of run-down SUVs providing all the color on the gray asphalt. The inn itself was part of the roadside complexes, with different flags sticking out of the window grates that stood below red banners. It looked nice—definitely nicer than the Design Motel. As they stepped out of the car, John patted the hood.

“Y’know, at some point, my car’s gonna get stolen or something.” He gestured to the SUVs. “I mean, it’s pretty conspicuous.”

Alex snorted and continued to pull stuff out of the back.

The inside of the inn was quaint and antique. John stood to one side as Alex checked in, examining the photos on the walls. They were mostly prints and old-timey portraits. He found a plate of cookies and grabbed one just as Alex called his name, gesturing to the stairs.

They dragged their luggage up and Alex opened the door to reveal yet another antique room, with an armoire and a dresser with a mirror. There were two beds, each with white bedsheets and a chocolate resting on the pillow. Alex set his stuff next to one bed and collapsed on top of it. John sat more delicately on the other and took a bite of his cookie.

“You good?”

“Yeah.” Alex blew out a long breath. “I’ve done a lot of driving in the past couple days.”

“Oh.” John drew in on himself a little—it was his fault, after all. “Sorry.”

Alex laughed and tossed his chocolate half-heartedly at him without looking. “You should be, asshole.” John’s shoulders tensed a little more. “It’s not like you had breakdowns that you couldn’t help and were totally called for, or anything. I mean, _I_ totally didn’t break down every few days when _my_ dad walked out on us.” John’s brows knit, but Alex kept going. “Geez, man, I wouldn’t trust you driving right now, if you even wanted to.”

John blinked. He was quiet for a moment. Then he took another bite of his cookie and asked in a small voice, “Your dad?”

“Shit, I said that, didn’t I?” was all Alex said.

“Mm.” John picked at a crumb on his shirt. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have asked. Sorry.”

“Nah, it was my mistake,” Alex said, but didn’t seem like he was going to say anything more. He hadn’t moved.

John shifted on his bed, finished his cookie, then pulled his legs up until he was sitting cross-legged on the covers. “Maine’s known for its lobsters, right?”

Alex slowly exhaled, sat up, and faced John. “Yep. Even the street vendors sell them.”

“Perfect!” John said, clapping his hands once. “What do you say we head out and sightsee, or whatever, and then grab lobster for dinner?”

Alex nodded. “Let’s save the aquatic museums for tomorrow, but we can visit parks and shit.”

John nodded enthusiastically. “Alright, cool. So, where to?”

Alex shrugged, “I’ll look it up while we walk.”

 

* * *

 

The International Cryptozoology Museum was a 20 minute walk from the inn, and the whole walk, Alex was pure glee. John didn’t quite understand, but Alex seemed endlessly enamored by the titchy museum at the edge of town. Maybe it was one of his Things.

The museum was set in an inconspicuous shopfront on a street corner, the only thing giving it away being the word “Museum” in silver font printed on the window. Alex shot an excited glance at John, who just rolled his eyes.

“Five-year-old.”

Alex responded by sticking his tongue out and pulling the door open. The inside looked more like a gift shop than an actual museum, with artifacts strewn about illuminated shelves, and the floor covered in blue and brown carpets. They didn’t match.

There was a small desk, with a sign telling them to peruse at their own risk. John scoffed, but he had to admit that the whole museum was a little fun.

It was small, cramped, and packed to the brim with as many ridiculous artifacts as possible, ranging from skeletons to live animals to far-fetched news articles to “cryptozoology-related beer, wine, spirits, and beverages”. Alex pointed a few things out, and they quietly snickered at the signs, the improbable ideas, the sheer whimsicality of it all.

By the time they made their way back to the front of the little building, John could almost believe everything was okay. It was a little scary how quickly Alex was becoming his close friend, but the easy dynamic just… worked. They clicked so easily, it felt a little like fate—imagine if he’d grabbed some _other_ stranger off the street and convinced them to go with him. There was no way it would’ve gone this well.

Alex poked his arm as the door swung shut behind them. “You okay?”

“Hm?” John glanced at him and casually steered them in the direction of the shoreline. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good, I think.”

“You think?”

“Would _you_ be okay, if you had all this shit going on?” John snapped. He felt a little bad, but there was no way they were having another conversation like that morning. Alex could deal with a sharp tone if it meant John didn’t have to talk about his feelings.

“Hey, sorry,” Alex said, holding his hands up in surrender. After a moment’s pause, he asked, “Where to?”

John shrugged. “I don’t really care. Portland’s pretty, let’s just walk.”

Alex seemed to consider this a moment, then hummed. “Okay. And then tomorrow: aquatic shit?”

“Aquatic shit,” John agreed.

They wandered through the streets, shoulders bumping occasionally, and watched the sun lower in the sky. There were cute shops that they browsed, little parks that they meandered through, the rare landmark that they explored. John was having fun, but it wasn’t just that. For the first time in a long time, he felt _content._  Far from his father, independent, with complete-stranger-turned-friend Alexander Hamilton by his side. Walking through the darkening streets of Portland with his newfound companion, John felt safe.

At some point, Alex nudged him intentionally and pointed out a sign for the Portland Lobster Company. John smiled a little—trust Alex to remember something as trivial as what they’d agreed to have for dinner.

The lobster was good, the view was better. Their table overlooked one of the many ship-filled harbors, and gave them a lovely view of the sunset coloring the water. John grabbed Alex’s phone and snapped a few pictures, hiding his face when Alex stole it back and turned the camera on him.

“Aww, come on,” Alex whined. “The light makes you look like a fairy princess.”

John gave him a flat look. “Was that a pun?”

Alex’s face scrunched up in distaste, but the effect was broken when he broke into giggles a few moments later. “Not intentionally, but it’s a pretty fucking good one.”

John smiled, too. Alex’s smiles were contagious. Alex suddenly snapped a couple pictures of him, and he squawked indignantly. “Alexander—um—Hamilton! Do _not_ take pictures of people without their permission!”

Alex rolled his eyes and tucked his phone away. “It’s for my eyes only. Promise.” He hesitated, chewing his lip. John looked down at his lobster. “I don’t have one, by the way,” Alex said suddenly. “A middle name.”

“Oh.” John shrugged. “Well, then I don’t even have to remember it for when I wanna go all momfriend on you.”

Alex punched his arm lightly. They fell into a comfortable silence. The sun set slowly, the water glistened, Alex’s face was lit up spectacularly, and John began seriously considering wrestling the phone back for a couple of pictures. They kept stealing glances at each other, pretending not to notice that the other was doing it. It was like something straight out of a fucking romance movie.

Eventually, they paid and left, continuing to wander through the city. They spent a while exploring the observatory, which was amazing, as they got to watch the stars come out, slowly, twinkling, one by one. At about 10, they found themselves standing back in front of the inn, shoulders pressed together for warmth. It got chillier as it got darker, and John’s South Carolina climate preferences were not being met.

They collapsed into their respective beds, and John grumbled about how showers were overrated anyway and taking one at 10 at night would be a travesty. Alex just threw a pillow at him and reminded him that the bathroom was nicer than the one at the Design Motel, and that got him moving.

Midnight found them sitting on their beds, facing each other, tossing pillows back and forth and asking questions. Questions about anything, really. Their home, their friends, their favorite colors, what they had for breakfast last week. John learned that Alex’s roommate, Aaron Burr, was unbearably imperturbable, and that Alex thought that John would love to meet him, if only to find new and inventive ways of pissing him off. He learned that Alex’s favorite season was summer, because he was from the Caribbean, and New York winters were a bitch. He learned that Alex would debate anyone into the ground, even if he hadn’t fully formed an opinion on something, and that he took special joy in tormenting one of his classmates, Thomas Jefferson.

Alex got his fair share of information about John, too, and by one in the morning, they’d devolved into arguing over their favorite Avengers moments.

“I’m just saying, they’re totally gay,” John said, flopping back onto his bed.

“Okay, I concede that you may have a point, but does that mean they’re gay for each _other?”_

“That’s the only reason people say they’re gay,” John pointed out. “They wouldn’t’ve noticed if it wasn’t for that helicopter scene.”

“Okay, but Stony,” Alex said. John sat up and grinned at him—that was as good as admitting defeat. Alex had run out of arguments, and all that was left was “but this is a Thing!”

“But Stucky,” John shot back. “Besides, at the end of Civil War, Stony basically broke up and said, ‘We can still be friends!’ but moved to different states anyways.”

Alex sighed. “Fine. You’re right.”

“Good, because I’m going to sleep now and I wanted to get that out of the way.” John tossed one last pillow at Alex’s bed before he nestled under the covers. After a moment, John lifted his head a little bit and sent Alex a pointed look. “Get some sleep, okay?”

Alex made a noncommittal noise. “Okay, Mom.” John stuck his tongue out at him before closing his eyes.

 

* * *

 

John was awoken by the sound of Alex’s soft murmuring. He twisted around in bed, trying to find Alex, a clock, anything. The clock by the bed told him that it was six in the morning, and a quick survey of the room told him that Alex was in the bathroom, probably on his phone. John groaned and pulled the covers over his face, chasing sleep for a few moments before tossing the sheets away.

He got up, stretched slowly, and went searching for his clothes. As he was rummaging through his suitcase, he heard the bathroom door open behind him and turned to see Alex wandering out. John raised a hand in greeting, faltering when he noticed the state of Alex’s face. Bags hung heavy under his glazed eyes, and he looked pale. His movements were sluggish as he raised a hand to John.

John picked up his clothes, then went over and poked Alex in the shoulder. “Did you sleep?” Alex just shrugged. “You need to sleep, man.”

“I’ll be fine, just get me coffee.” Alex shot him a wry smile, to which John responded with a glare.

“No, you won’t. You’ve been awake since yesterday morning, _and_ I made you drive all day. So you need sleep.”

“But we need to see the museum…”

“Your arguments suck,” John told him bluntly. “The museum doesn’t open until nine-thirty, and it closes at five, and it’s a forty minute drive. Go to sleep.”

Alex shook his head. “It’s too bright out, I can’t.”

“For fuck’s sake, Alex,” John muttered. Alex rubbed his arm sheepishly. John was suddenly struck with inspiration.

He tore the quilt off of his bed and Alex gave him an incredulous look. John ignored him, going over to the window and drawing the blinds. He had to get up on his toes, but he managed to tuck the blanket into the curtain rod. He stood back, satisfied.

“There. Now you have no excuse,” John said triumphantly.

“I’m telling you, I won’t be able to sleep.”

“You’re sleeping, even if I have to sleep with you.”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

Alex made a show of pulling the covers over his head, and it took John crawling under with him and wrapping his arms around him for them to burst out laughing.

“Five-year-old,” John said, with maybe a little too much affection.

Alex grumbled a little, but he was smiling, too.

Admittedly, it did take awhile for Alex to fall asleep. He complained and John kept poking him in the side until his protests grew weak and, eventually, nonexistent. When his breathing evened, John took a moment to make sure he was asleep (and maybe just to admire his face. Alex was pretty, fight him), then slipped out of the bed and wandered down to the first level, where continental breakfast was being served. He grabbed a few fruits and a stack of waffles for Alex, then headed back upstairs.

When he got back to the room, Alex was still asleep, so John set the food down on the desk as quietly as possible and did some more suitcase searching until he came up with _The Foundation Trilogy._ He sat back at the desk and read as he absently chewed on an apple, considering the benefits of a morning run.

He got back from his run at 8:30. Alex was still asleep and the waffles were untouched. John read a little more and swiped Alex’s phone to listen to some music. As he opened it, he noticed a few texts from George Washington, which he at first assumed to be nothing of consequence, until he saw his name in one. After a quick mental argument, John opened Alex’s messages.

_[5:20 AM]_

_gwash: Alexander, Henry Laurens called me._

_gwash: He was looking for John Laurens._

_You: don’t tell him?_

_gwash: I won’t. For now. How long will you keep this up?_

_You: i don’t know, but you can’t tell him_

_gwash: Alexander, this goes beyond childish secrecy._

_You: i… can’t text this without it becoming an essay_

_You: i’m gonna call you_

_[7:09 AM]_

_gwash: Laurens called again; he’s not happy._

_gwash: Alexander, he knows John came through here, and he won’t believe me that I didn’t see him._

_gwash: Alexander, pick up the phone. I don’t know what else to tell Laurens, he’s pretty insistent._

_gwash: Whatever you’re doing can wait, Alex, pick up the phone._

John’s blood ran cold. He didn’t want to wake Alex, but Washington was right, this was important. Henry could _not_ find him. But Alex needed sleep. But Washington said it was important. So it must be okay.

John leaned over and shook Alex’s shoulder, gently at first, and then a little more frantically as panic began to set in.

“Alex! Wake up! Alex—” He broke off as Alex’s hand came up and swatted at him.

“John, what in God’s name—” Alex yawned. “This better be important.”

“It is,” John promised. He took a deep breath. “Okay, so I was—” Wait. He was _what,_  exactly? Looking through Alex’s phone without his permission? This was becoming a worse idea by the second.

“John?”

“Promise you won’t get mad,” John said, deciding to go with the safest method. “You have to swear.”

“You’re acting like a ten-year-old, John,” Alex said, rubbing his eyes. He caught John’s look and nodded reluctantly. “Okay, whatever. I’ll do my best.”

“I was looking through your messages,” John said quickly, raising his hands (with the phone still in them) as Alex’s expression morphed. “No, no, I mean—I saw my name in one of Washington’s texts because I wanted to listen to music and you were still asleep and I got curious—”

Alex let out a long sigh and John clamped his mouth shut. Alex paused, closed his eyes, and said haltingly, “Don’t. Do it again.”

John nodded vigorously. “Noted. Never, ever, doing it again. I promise.” He met Alex’s gaze and held it apologetically until Alex waved him on. “But, um. Senator Washington was calling you, and it was about me…” John handed him the phone. “I’m sorry but can you please call him, because he seemed frantic and I’m worried and you _cannot let my dad find me—”_

Alex was already pressing _call._ “Washington?” he asked, then put the phone on speaker. “Hang on, can you explain to John and I what the hell’s going on?”

George Washington let out a breath from the other end of the line. “Henry Laurens called me this morning, while you were… doing whatever it is you were doing—”

“Sleeping,” Alex interjected, sounding scandalized. John stifled a watery laugh.

“Whatever it was,” Washington continued pointedly, “it kept you from answering his questions, which meant that he still won’t leave me alone about John Laurens.”

“Hi,” John said quietly.

“Laurens… I don’t know what to tell you, other than that I can only hold your father off for so long. He’s extremely persistent, and he is also aware that Alex left Mt. Vernon about the same time you came through. Now, don’t panic.” John was panicking.

He didn’t hear whatever Washington said next, he was too busy sinking to the floor and trying to focus on _breathe breathe breathe breathe there is air all around just breathe._ Alex’s hands were on his arms, his shoulders, his face, and John clung to them like they were lifelines.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Alex was saying, squeezing his fingers tightly, but they weren’t John’s fingers, because John wasn’t in _there,_ he was out _here,_ where his father couldn’t find him. “It’s alright, he can’t track you anymore, it’s okay,” Alex kept saying but _how does he know he doesn’t know Henry Laurens he’ll find me he’ll findmehe’llfindme—_

“Hey, John, focus on my breathing, okay?”

 _God, that doesn’t_ matter, _can’t you see, it’s not me you have to be worried about, and that’s fucking cheesy anyway—_

“Okay, John. Um, shit, uh.” John watched as Alex’s hands cupped his cheeks again, fear bright in his eyes. “Can you feel this? Do you know where you are?” And Alex’s hands were so warm and John felt so cold and he could see Alex again eye-to-eye and he didn’t know where he was because all that he could see was Alex and really, that’s all that mattered, right?

“John. I need you to do something, nod your head, anything.” Alex’s voice was shaky. “John, _please,_  I need a response. John!”

John, slowly, nodded his head.

“Okay, good.” Alex took a moment to even his breathing. “Alright. Um. Can you feel my hands?” Another slow nod. “Do you know where you are?” A miniscule shake. “Um. We’re in Portland, Maine, in our room in the Inn at St. John, and it’s—” he checked his phone “—nine-seventeen in the morning.” John took a moment, remembered. He nodded, more confidently this time. “Awesome. Cool. Good.” Alex ran a hand down his face.

“Are—are you okay?” John asked weakly, reaching a hand out to touch Alex’s pale cheeks, his bright, scared eyes, his disheveled hair.

Alex gave him a disbelieving look. “Am _I_ okay?” he demanded, and John shrank back a bit. “Sorry, God, I’m fine, John, I’m just so fucking worried about you. Are _you_ okay?”

John nodded slowly. “Yeah, sorry.” He was coming back to himself, and he could feel his face begin to burn. He pushed at Alex. “I’m gonna. Go. Clean myself up. I—thanks.” He practically bolted to the bathroom and shut the door and locked it tightly, letting himself sag against it. _He just saw that. I just did that. In front of him. Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: I changed the hours of the Cryptozoology museum a bit (yes, it's a real place. No, I've never been, but since writing this I've wanted to). It actually closes at 3:30 PM, but the boys were a little late. So it closes at 6 PM in this.


	4. "It’s not your fault. It’s your brain’s fault, and it’s a fault that can’t just be patched up with duct tape and a little bit of hope. It takes time and care."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Alex is good at reassurance, John wants to go camping, and a couple of nerds share one too many bottles of wine.

Alex had fucked up. He wasn’t sure how, but he had, and John hadn’t said a word the entire drive. John had wordlessly taken the driver’s seat, so Alex had nothing but his thoughts to keep him occupied.

Alex was certain that the atmospheric shift had occurred sometime during his pathetic attempts at helping John through his panic attack. It wasn’t that Alex had no experience with panic, because he _did._ It was just… He had admittedly awful coping methods, if they could be called that. They mostly consisted of getting shitfaced and passing out. Alex assumed John wouldn’t have appreciated that suggestion. He hadn’t appreciated Alex’s more empathetic attempts, either.

The trees flew by. Alex thought. John’s hands tapped on the wheel. And so it went.

At one point, Alex reached out and turned the radio on. They listened to a few minutes of Death Cab for Cutie before John suddenly turned it off again. The silence was suffocating.

It was the longest 40 minutes of Alex’s life.

Eventually, the highway turned into a city street and they pulled up in front of the museum. It wasn’t especially museum-like, built out of red brick and looking more like a high school than a place of learning. There was a mast with several different countries’ flags on it in front of the banners that read “Maine Maritime Museum”.

Alex practically bounced out of the car. He wasn’t excited, he was jittery. Why did John being cold with him make him so nervous? Oh, right, his dumbass crush that decided to rear its head whenever John did _anything._ It was quickly becoming more inconvenient than anything.

John shot him a look as he pulled the door open, but Alex caught his arm before he could escape into the safety of public spaces. John let the door close and Alex’s mind suddenly went blank. _Shit, okay, you’ve got his attention. Um. Hold it?_

“Okay, John, listen,” Alex began, flinching a little as John pulled his arm from Alex’s grasp. “I know that I’m not… the best at comforting people, or knowing what to say or do, but I’m sorry. I…” Alex took a deep breath, not meeting John’s eyes. “I get—I deal with panic, too. Well, used to a lot more, but it still happens sometimes and I know that doesn’t make it any better, but I guess I’m trying to say… I know what you’re going through, and I’m shit at helping, but I know what it’s like, and it’s awful. So I’m not trying to downplay what you’re feeling, or anything, I’m just being a shithead.”

It was John’s turn to not meet Alex’s gaze. “I’m not mad at you.”

“What?” That was not what Alex had been expecting. At all. Of all the explanations he’d run through in his head, he had not accounted for John’s self-loathing outweighing his downright failure. Because that’s what it was—self-loathing. If John didn’t blame Alex, he was blaming himself. Alex had picked up on that much in the two days they’d been together.

“Why would I be mad at you?” John asked, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, a bit of his hair, anything to avoid Alex’s eyes. “I’m the one who fucked up. So. Sorry. For all that.”

Alex raised an eyebrow quizzically. “What exactly did this ‘fucking up’ entail?” he asked, making air-quotes.

John flushed and looked down. It would’ve been pretty, but _Hamilton, you’re doing the Thing again. And he needs reassurance right now, not you being an ass._

“John, panic attacks aren’t fuck ups,” Alex said slowly. “Well, they’re your body fucking up and they suck, but they’re not going to change my opinion of you. Like I said earlier, you can’t control it. Not to mention, you get a full pass if your family’s as fucked up as yours is right now.” Alex caught John's wrist again and John finally looked at him, eyes glittering. “This whole trip has just been unpacking and repacking a shitload of emotional baggage, so of course things are gonna weigh on you. It’s not your fault. It’s your brain’s fault, and it’s a fault that can’t just be patched up with duct tape and a little bit of hope. It takes time and care.”

John shook his head, but he didn’t look away from Alex, which Alex counted as a victory. It’s the little things. “Thanks. For not… being like a lot of other people have.” He glanced pointedly at the doors. “Um, can we go to the museum, now?”

“Does this mean I can talk to you now?” Alex asked. “Does this mean you’ll talk to me now?”

John smiled a little and shoved at him. “Mister Hamilton is getting a little clingy.”

Alex’s face formed the beginnings of a smile in return. “Mister Hamilton simply enjoys the Princess’s witty banter.”

John pushed the door open, and Alex decided he’d done okay.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, what is there to do in Massachusetts?” Alex asked as John tapped away at the phone. Alex’s phone. It had really become a shared possession in the last couple of days, but he was still paying for it, so he counted it as his.

“Boston?” John said, looking a little perplexed.

“Wow, yeah, Boston. That’s something to do. We’ll just. Do the entire city,” Alex replied dryly.

“Okay, you know what?” John threw a crouton at him, then turned back to the phone. “Doing an entire city, wouldn’t that get tiring? And how many people live there? We only have a couple of days to spend there.”

Alex burst out in laughter and threw John’s crouton back at him, hitting him square on the forehead. “I didn’t realize I was signing up for _this._ ”

“What, the highest form of humor?”

“No, you being an asshole.”

“Oh, I’ll be an asshole,” John said, winking.

“That doesn’t even make sense!” Alex exclaimed, dropping his head into his hands.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Check this out.” John slid the phone across the table and focused on his salad.

“A state forest?” Alex asked, unimpressed. There were forests everywhere, and besides, it was like… the _outdoors._

“Yeah,” John said happily. “It’s 8 square miles, and it should be beautiful this time of year. There’s horseback riding.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but he just looked down at his salad.

“John, are you gonna finish that thought?” Alex prompted, because if there was one thing he’d learned recently, it was that John didn’t say important things without prompting.

“Yeah,” John said after a few moments’ hesitation, “but it’s—it’s nothing. It’s stupid.”

“It probably is, but I’m all here for stupid ideas. Have you met me?”

John stuck his tongue out without conviction. “There’s camping,” he said quietly.

“Camping?” Alex repeated. Oh no. He did not live in the outdoors. “Isn’t that expensive?” was all he said, because he didn’t feel like being the one to bring John’s mood down even further.

“Yeah,” John admitted. “But I’ve never been, and I’m curious.”

“It’s just living in a piece of fabric and not showering for a few days,” Alex pointed out. “Distasteful, really.”

“Well, when you put it that way!” John rolled his eyes. “It’s much more romantic than _that._ ”

“Ooh, are you trying to woo me with your extensive knowledge of trees?” Alex teased.

“I thought we’d established that already,” John replied. “But I also just want to see what it’s like.”

“Did I mention that it’s expensive? You seemed pretty set on this trip.”

John sighed, defeated. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am.” Alex paused. “You know, after I get back to my job and you stabilize a bit financially, we could go. But for now, we’re already tight on money, so. Later.”

John’s smile was back, and Alex found it infectious. “Later,” he agreed. He took the phone back, still grinning, and did some more searching. Alex had finished his sandwich by the time John slid the phone back across the table.

“Ah, we’re back in Boston.” Alex squinted at the screen. “You’re kidding. _Sondheim on Sondheim?_ ”

“It’s a musical, but I figured it would convince you to appreciate the wonders of older music,” John said. “Especially because it’s with the Boston Symphony Orchestra, who have done some of my favorite arrangements.”

Alex let out a breath and closed his eyes. “Fine, but I get to choose our hotel.”

“Deal,” John said with a smile.

Alex grabbed the phone, and, after a moment of searching, asked, “Hey, um. I don’t think we accounted for the fact that all of Boston’s hotels are 4-star?”

“You’re kidding,” John said, rubbing his temples.

“It’s alright. You wanna splurge on a night in the Kimpton Hotel? It’s in the city center and super fancy. There’s free wine involved.” Alex looked up with a wicked grin.

John rolled his eyes. “Fine. One night, though.”

“Done,” Alex said agreeably.

 

* * *

 

“How much did you say this place was?” John asked as they looked around their room. The ride had been remarkably short, so they had a few hours to kill before dinner, and Alex was fairly sure that John could’ve spent them all staring.

“Two hundred dollars,” Alex answered, bursting out laughing when he caught John’s look of disbelief. “One night, like I said.”

“One night,” John agreed.

“Hey, didn’t you grow up around this?” Alex asked, running a hand over the covers. “Why is this so surprising to you?”

“It’s because your shitty taste is viral,” John muttered, setting his bags down next to his bed. “Actually, it’s because I’m nervous about finances.”

“It’ll be fine,” Alex assured him. “Boston is our self-indulgent city. Everywhere else we shall live scantily.”

John raised his eyebrows. “Does that mean no strip poker in this incredibly scenic hotel?”

Alex stifled a laugh. “No, by all means, make the hotel even more scenic.”

John stuck his tongue out, but the effect was ruined by his wide grin. “Shut up.”

They claimed beds, explored the room, and John took a quick shower. Alex bummed around while the water ran, familiarizing himself with the room and sipping some of the water that had been left for them. He tired of that after a few minutes and called to John that he was going for a walk.

His original plan had been to just wander the hotel for a bit and find out where the restaurants were, but when he got to the lobby he caught sight of a liquor store across the street and all of his plans were replaced by a quiet afternoon in with John. With tipsy John. Because he was sure tipsy John would be endlessly entertaining.

He wandered across the street, bought a bottle of cheap wine, and grabbed a couple wine glasses from one of the restaurants on the way back up to the room. When he got back, John was sprawled across his bed, reading a book.

“Hey, is that Isaac Asimov?” Alex asked as he set the wine and the glasses down on their table. John nodded absently, glancing up only when the glasses clinked together.

“Wine?” he asked incredulously. “Are we getting serious now?”

Alex shot him a look, but honestly, he wouldn’t have put it past his scumbag brain to have factored that in when coming up with the plan. “We weren’t before?” he replied, instead of voicing that thought. “I bought you lobster, for God’s sake.”

John shrugged. “It takes more than a bit of seafood and—is that _Charles Shaw?”_

Alex stared. “For one thing, did you just call it _Charles Shaw?_ For another, of course! Have I mentioned four-star hotel? Cheap wine is how I’ll survive on this trip.”

“I’m offended,” John said, pouting. It was ruined when he grinned a moment later. “And do you not call it Charles Shaw?”

Alexander shook his head disappointedly. “I can’t believe you. Rich kids these days.”

“Hey, that’s supposed to be a sensitive topic!” John said, waving an arm halfheartedly.

Alex snorted and picked up the wine bottle. “Well, Princess Laurens, when we get some _Two Buck Chuck_ in you, we can broach sensitive subjects, and I can tell you about the proper peasant terminology for cheap shit.” When John rolled his eyes, Alex smiled fondly. He knew he probably looked like a lovestruck fool, but John was adorable, and he _really_ needed to get this crush-thing under control.

 

* * *

 

Wine might not have been the best idea, after all, Alex reflected later. John was sprawled across his lap, face-down, head buried in the covers just next to Alex’s knee. Alex, probably the more sober of the two, was awkwardly petting his hair, because whenever he stopped, John got all whiny and sniffly.

He’d been right—tipsy John was hilarious, but tipsy John was also adorable and sprawled across Alex’s lap. Alex wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself.

“—and it’s not like she’s quiet about it, either,” John was complaining. “No, I can hear it every time she takes a fucking shower, because she plays it as loud as fucking possible! And Dad hates it, too. He’s never around when she does it, but all of us complain to him and he’s so fucking fed up with it—”

“Hang on,” Alex interrupted, taking another sip of wine, “this is about your sister’s awful music taste?”

“Yeah,” John mumbled.

“You’re one to talk,” Alex said, flicked John in the ribs. John shoved at his stomach with one hand, but didn’t succeed in moving him very far. Maybe because he was on his _lap._

“Shut up,” John muttered, then propped himself up abruptly on two hands. He turned his face to Alex’s, and they ended up inches apart. John didn’t seem to notice, an aggressive expression having settled itself on his face. “If your music’s so good, what the hell do you even listen to?”

Alex shrugged. “I like alternative?” he offered. John just stuck out his tongue. “Okay, I like stuff like Modest Mouse or New Politics.”

John perked up a bit at that. “New Politics? I like New Politics.” _John approval rating up by one,_ Alex thought, and then immediately recalled it. Nope, nope, too much wine. “What’s that other band?” His nose was scrunching up and Alex resisted the intense urge to lean forward and kiss it, because it was only a few inches, wasn’t it? _Oh, hell, please no. Inhibitions are down, I repeat, inhibitions are down!_ John snapped his fingers, and Alex was distracted from his thoughts. “Right! Smallpools!”

Alex let out a small gasp and banished his other thoughts. “You listen to Smallpools?”

“I love Smallpools!”

Alex waved his hands about, trying to articulate everything flying through his head. In the end, _“American Love!_ ” was all that he could manage.

John nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! And _Dyin’ to Live?”_

 _“Lovetap!_ in general,” Alex agreed. He was surprised by John tearfully flinging himself into Alex’s arms. Alex rubbed his back a little awkwardly, not sure what this next outburst was about.

“No one I know listens to Smallpools,” John said, and Alex made a sympathetic noise.

“That’s because they’re too busy listening to old-fashioned things, like classical.”

“I’ll fight you on the classical thing,” John mumbled into Alex’s shirt. Alex just patted his head.

“Okay.”

John grumbled, then flopped back onto the bed. “Hey, what time is it?”

Alex shrugged, glancing at the clock. “Around five. Why?” After a pause, wherein John just stared at Alex skeptically, Alex shouted, “Dinner!” in a revelatory tone.

John covered his face with one hand. “I can’t believe you.” After another pause, he uncovered his face. “Let’s eat at one of these fancy-ass restaurants tonight.”

“We’re supposed to be living cheap,” Alex reminded him.

“Yeah, yeah, but Boston is our self-indulgent city, right?” The look in John’s eye was mischievous and a little dangerous, and it was more than enough to convince Alex of anything.

“Right.”

As it turned out, Alex didn’t have a single piece of clothing packed that would be acceptable. Well, that’s what John said, at least. Amidst the merciless teasing because, “Oh, this is too… bleh.” “Very descriptive,” John had proclaimed every single one of his shirts unwearable.

After a moment’s scrutiny, John said, “I’m gonna get dressed, and then I’m gonna see what I can find for you. Because none of that is gonna work.”

Alex held up his hands in defeat. “Whatever you say.”

Honestly, Alex wasn’t sure that this dinner idea was any better than putting wine in John in the first place. John, though he seemed to have sobered somewhat, still seemed a little uninhibited, and Alex didn’t know how that was going to mix with a high-end restaurant.

He ended up on the edge of his bed, anxiously reading and rereading the same line from John’s copy of _The Foundation Trilogy_ when John came out of the bathroom.

“Okay, so you need something passable,” John said, clapping his hands once. Alex glanced up distractedly, then did a double-take as he fully took in John’s appearance. He was wearing a sangria button-down and black jeans, with his hair pulled back neatly into a ponytail. Alex missed whatever he said next, because hot _damn._

And then he realized that John was staring at him. And he had no idea what had just been said. And he was staring like a lovestruck fool. “Sorry?” he managed, coughing a little. _Really subtle, dipshit._

John put a hand over his mouth, trying, and failing badly, to disguise his laughter. “A little taken, are we?” he winked and rolled his hips a little and Alex glared pointedly.

“It’s a nice color on you,” he allowed. “I wouldn’t go getting cocky, though.”

“That a pun?” John asked, even as he turned to look through his suitcase. “What are your feelings about the color red?”

Alex shrugged. “It’s definitely a color.”

“Is this why you wear oversized sweaters and hoodies all the time?” John asked absently as he threw a scarlet shirt over.

Alex looked at it skeptically and asked, “Is what why?”

“So you can distract from your lack of color coordination with how cute you look in baggy clothes,” John said, shooting a flirty glance at Alex. Alex was smiling back when a pair of jeans hit him in the face.

“Ow!”

“’S whatcha get for getting distracted by my Southern charm.”

Alex flipped him off as he went to change. _He’s right, you know. Shut your fucking mouth, shitty head machine._

 

* * *

 

Alex meant to be scanning the menu, he really did. It was just… John looked so damn good and it was one of those fancy restaurants where wine was offered immediately, and Alex would’ve said no, except that John sent him one of those devilish grins and suddenly it was a competition that Alex was going to lose. Hard.

He didn’t even pay attention to his order, and let John decide on the appetizers. He registered vaguely that he’d probably regret not monitoring John’s spending habits more closely in the future, but John was looking at him again and he was way more focused on the way John’s mouth moved than financial issues.

“So,” John said, leaning forward on his elbows, “this place is nice.”

“The view’s not bad, either,” Alex said, and it took John a moment to realize that Alex wasn’t looking out the windows. Alex smirked.

John put a hand on his forehead dramatically. “Your lines will be the death of me.”

“Because I’m crazy hot?” Alex offered.

“Because they’re awful,” John said, but he was smiling, and Alex was trying really, _really_ hard not to overthink why.

Alex didn’t really pay attention to the rest of their conversation, instead admiring John and offering commentary on the other patrons. John seemed to find it funny, so Alex decided it was good.

About halfway through the food (which was heavenly, by the way, but John was downright angelic, so), Alex was brutally reminded why he couldn’t actually just kiss John senseless right there. Nothing particularly awful happened. No catastrophic news stories, no life-changing phone calls, no panic attacks. But Alex’s phone buzzed, and he suddenly remembered the end of his last conversation with Washington.

_“John?” George asked, but Alex had already taken the phone back, grabbed John’s shoulder._

_“It’s not good, George,” Alex said quickly. “We’re gonna postpone again. I’m sorry.”_

_“Alex—” and then Alex cut the call, and Henry Laurens was shoved to the back of his mind._

They really, _really_ needed to deal with that, because John was still unstable about the whole thing. Unstable in general. And he needed a stable presence, not a random fling. He needed support, not Alex taking complete advantage of this whole situation.

And suddenly Alex was stumbling to the bathroom and tasting vinegar in his mouth and retching into the nearest toilet because _oh, God, how could he even_ think _that?_

“Alex?” John’s voice called, muffled, and then the door was flung open and John knelt next to him. “Alex, are you okay?”

Alex jerked away when John tried to put a hand on his arm. “The fuck does it look like?”

John laughed nervously. “I’m supposed to be the emotionally unstable one, aren’t I?” Alex fought not to retch again. He lost. “Alex? What’s wrong? Was it the wine? Dude, I didn’t take you for a lightweight—”

“Can you stop fucking around for two seconds?” Alex snapped. Jesus, didn’t John know when something was serious? Couldn’t this man put his weird-ass isolative issues aside for a second and be _compassionate?_ Alex was trying—couldn’t he?

John was quiet. That was odd.

“John?”

“No, yeah, sorry,” John said softly. “Let’s get you back to the room.”

“Jesus, John, if there’s something bothering you, just fucking say it!” Alex regretted his tone instantly, because he’d looked back at John, and when he said it, John suddenly wouldn’t meet his eyes, and he was backing away like he was _afraid._

“No, it’s fine,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s get you ba—” his voice cracked and he shoved at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Back to the room,” he finished, no more than a whine, a breath.

Alex didn’t say anything on the way back to the room. He went over everything he had to say as they walked, as he brushed his teeth, as they changed and John ran his hands through his hair, gasping quietly for breath. When Alex looked at him, there were tears in his eyes.

“Hey, John…” he murmured, guiding John over to his bed and sitting them down. He wrapped their blanket around John’s shoulders and hugged him. “I’m not mad at you. I’m sorry. I just… realized some things and it was a bit too much. I don’t blame you for anything, I promise.”

John laid his head on Alex shoulders. His breath hitched before he let out a breathy sob. “I’m sorry that I fucked up,” he whispered.

“You didn’t fuck up,” Alex assured him. “It’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, I did,” John said, and wound his arms around Alex’s middle. “I’m all screwed up and I can’t do emotional shit without inducing a fucking panic attack, and so I couldn’t help. I’m all fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Alex agreed, and John let out a harsh laugh, tried to push away. Alex let him, but caught his hand. “But hey, if it helps, I’m all fucked up, too. But that doesn’t mean that you fucked up, just now. It doesn’t mean you’re a fuck up. It just means that your brain is incredibly incompetent, and needs you to take care of it yourself.”

John gave a faint smile, his brow furrowing. “Like parenting, but you’re parenting yourself.” He let out a long breath. “You’re stupid.”

Alex shrugged. “What did you call me that first day?” he paused, thinking. God, had it only been three days? “Oblivious, and so fucking clueless—”

“Be careful, or I _will_ punch you,” John threatened, smiling.

“Kinky,” Alex said, and dodged John’s shove. “John?”

“Hm?”

“Are you… good?”

Silence.

“Hell no.” A pause. “I think I will be, though. Give me some time?”

Alex smiled and nudged John’s shoulder with his own. “’Course. Let’s go to sleep.”

The smile John gave him was worth a million bad nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this, you could check out my recent work, [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10762287) Quick warning: it's dark and depressing, but the ending is a little more uplifting. Essentially: if John were to have been a ghost for hundreds of years, only to come back to life and not want to be there.
> 
> On a separate note, I apologize for the lateness of this chapter. Life got in the way but I am now done with 1/3 of my final projects, and it's the most stressful one that's over! So I get to not worry for a while, and then I'll have way too much free time over the summer. Essentially, it won't happen again (soon).
> 
> Oh, yeah, and on June 7th, Leslie Odom, Jr. is performing with the BSO. Because fate.
> 
> Also, you can come yell at me on Tumblr! @2000-bees-in-very-comfy-pajamas
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. “I’m making coffee and you’re gonna close the curtains along with your damn mouth.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dealing with hangovers and feelings and shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *crawls in, battered and bloody* *slams this down on tavern bar* *crawls back out again*
> 
> Also I'd just like to take a moment to thank my beta for being literally the best human. She's saved me from many terrible grammatical errors such as "I'm was" and various terrible idioms. She's @betwixtthemoon on tumblr and she's awesome.

John woke up wrapped in Alex. Literally. He’d hugged John until they’d both fallen asleep, and now his legs were tangled with John’s, and the blankets were practically knotted around both of them. Instead of moving and waking Alex, John ran a hand through Alex’s hair and admired the way the sun fell across his face.

He blinked, and a sharp pain jolted through his temple. He jerked into a sitting position, and Alex let out a loud groan of protest. Ah, well. He’d tried.

“Fuck,” he muttered, massaging his temple.

“Fuck yourself,” Alex muttered from where he’d buried his face in his pillow. “I did _not_ need to be woken up like that, and I have a hangover. This is torture.”

John screwed his eyes shut and made a face. “I have a hangover, too, in case you didn’t notice. How much did we drink?”

Alex raised his face from his pillow with a confused expression, began counting on his fingers. “Well, we started the first bottle, and then we had like three glasses each over dinner, and then we came home and finished the first bottle, and then fell asleep.”

John finger-gunned at Alex, then regretted it a second later and clutched at his temple. “Fuck—” He sucked in a breath, then sat up again. “Actually, I had five glasses over dinner, and you only had three, because you’re a loser.”

“Yeah, I lost,” Alex said boredly. “I did throw up, in case you missed that. Just saying. And we both got emotionally wrecked, in case you forgot.”

John sighed and stood up. “I’m making coffee and you’re gonna close the curtains along with your damn mouth.”

Alex grumbled but stood up and drew the curtains. John set the kettle in their room boiling, then wandered over to the menu on the window-side table. As he looked it over, Alex took his place at the kettle, and after a few minutes, he came over and handed John a steaming cup.

“I love you, oh my God,” John said, taking the cup gratefully and sipping. When he looked up, Alex had frozen with his mouth half-open, and he suddenly realized his mistake. “I—mean—um—”

“Breakfast,” Alex said quickly, and snatched the menu from John’s other hand. He turned away, probably to hide his rapidly-reddening face. John just laughed.

Between the previous night and this, John was starting to wonder when Alex would actually kiss him. _No, don’t think that, that’s how things go wrong, John._

“Right,” John said, pointing. “I’m thinking crepes.”

“I, too, am craving flat French pancakes,” Alex said, then held up a hand. “Wait, wait, what time is it?”

John glanced at his watch and groaned. “It’s twelve-thirty.”

“No crepes, then,” Alex said, snickering. “Let’s go out for lunch somewhere.”

John shrugged. “Right, sure. Um. Is there anything around?”

“Let’s take a walk and see,” Alex said.

 

* * *

 

Boston was pretty. The streets were clean, the sky was bright (which wasn’t fun in their hungover state, but Alex brought advil), and the people were endless. It didn’t hurt that Alex insisted on holding John’s hand so they wouldn’t get lost, either.

They found a cute, cheap lunch place and ordered sandwiches for the both of them. They ate as they walked, still holding hands, like they’d forgotten they were.

They eventually found their way to the Bunker Hill Monument, a towering white obelisk with a small Grecian building next to it. They wandered around for a while. Alex was fascinated, so he insisted on reading every single plaque and sign in the museum. John was only a little annoyed—the way Alex’s eyes lit up with excitement was entirely worth standing around for.

They climbed the obelisk (“Carry me, John!” “No.” “You _dropped_ me!”), and John stole Alex’s phone to take pictures from the top.

When he turned the phone on Alex, Alex squeaked and turned away.

“Don’t take pictures of me!”

John snapped a few anyway, just because Alex was cute, then tapped his finger to his chin, like he was thinking. “You know, where have I heard something like that recently?”

Alex’s brow furrowed, then he rolled his eyes. “Asshole.”

“Never said I wasn’t,” John said, finally handing the phone back. “Proves my point, though.”

“Yeah,” Alex muttered, glancing through the pictures. “But it’s not the same.”

“How is it not the same? It’s exactly the same.” John turned to look out the window, but Alex wasn’t done.

“You’re… I don’t know,” Alex mumbled.

John looked back at him, then, because it wasn’t like Alexander Hamilton to keep quiet about something. _You’ve known him for four days. Yeah, but I’m right._ “Alex?”

“I don’t know!” Alex snapped, and pushed past him. John turned and watched him push through the crowded room to the exit. After a few seconds, he followed.

“Alex, what’s up?” he asked when he found Alex outside, standing on the lawn and watching the sky.

“It’s gonna rain,” Alex said softly.

John scrubbed a hand down his face and sighed. “Alex, can we please talk about it?”

“No.” It was a definitive end to the conversation, and John couldn’t find it in himself to argue.

“Let’s go back to the hotel, if it’s gonna rain.”

Alex nodded mutely. John tried to take his hand again, but he pulled away.

 

* * *

 

They were on the bridge in front of hotel when there was a crack of thunder and it suddenly began pouring. Alex didn’t react, just hastened his footsteps, but John grabbed his arm and turned him so that they were both facing out towards the river. The rain fell beautifully into the water, misting up around the buildings. It felt like they were in another world.

John turned to find Alex already staring at him. Wouldn’t it be so easy to just lean in and—

“Let’s go,” Alex said, breaking eye contact. Right, there was a reason John had stopped him.

“Alex, are you mad at me?” John asked, snatching Alex’s wrist.

Alex tried to tug it away, but to no avail. John was _not_ gonna let him get out of this. “No.”

“Are you mad at yourself?” Alex was caught off-guard and didn’t reply for a few seconds, and that was answer enough for John. “Why?”

Again, Alex just opened his mouth like he meant to reply, but forgot how. Finally, he whispered, “I can’t tell you.”

“Of course you can tell me,” John said. “You can tell me anything.”

Alex suddenly stiffened. “We’ve known each other for four days, John. How the fuck does that make sense to you?”

“Because you—” John stopped himself. “I don’t know. But it does.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Alex turned sharply and began walking briskly toward the hotel.

“Alex, come on.”

“It’s not important!” Alex snapped. “We have a musical to get to.”

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. That was, perhaps, the most pointless excuse Alex could have used, considering it was still two in the afternoon. But if Alex was going to act like that, fine. He let it slide. _How long are you going to keep doing that?_

_However long I need to._

The rest of the walk was short. Back at the hotel, Alex was sorting through his things when he looked up, eyes distant. He looked at John, then, his eyes finally focusing. “How many outfits do you have like the ones from last night?”

John bit his lip as he rummaged through his suitcase. “Um… I only have those two.”

“Well, are they clean enough to see a musical?”

John sniffed them. “Should be.”

“Great.” Alex grabbed a different shirt from his open suitcase and gestured toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna take first shower, then.”

John nodded. After the water started running, he began trying to organize his suitcase. Living out of a suitcase did not, apparently, aid in keeping it neat. Why were his socks tucked into his hair stuff? He didn’t notice the water turning off until Alex made a small noise of distress.

John looked up to find Alex in the door of the bathroom, staring with a mix of amazement and horror at John’s mess.

“How much did you _pack?”_

“Dude, I was told that I had fifteen minutes to pack, and if my dad ever saw me again, he’d find his shotgun.” John shook his head with a raised eyebrow. “I took _everything.”_ _Shit, that was probably oversharing. Oh, well._

Alex just looked doubtful. “Everything? All of your possessions fit into one suitcase?”

John waved his hand. “I’m missing like, all of my books and I had way more expensive clothes, but I figured those weren’t as important.”

Alex sat down on John’s bed, with the suitcase between them. He began abstractedly sorting John’s clothes. “How many books did you bring?”

“Seriously? _That’s_ what you ask?” John rolled his eyes and tossed Alex a t-shirt. “I guess… I have _The Foundation Trilogy_ and _The Black Book of Secrets._ I didn’t have the time or the room to pack my entire bookshelf, though. Now I think about it, it’s pretty disappointing.”

Alex nodded. He glanced up at John from his shirt-folding job. “Wait, _The Black Book of Secrets?_ I’ve never heard of that.”

John opened a pocket on the front of his case and pulled out a dark gray book. He held it up cautiously. “It’s a children’s book. It was my favorite book as a kid, so I didn’t want to lose it.”

Alex held out a hand expectantly. John carefully placed the book on it. He needn’t have worried, apparently, because Alex held the book like it was a sacred object. He examined the cover for a moment and carefully turned the pages. After a minute or so, he met John’s eyes over the top of the book. “May I read it?”

John nodded. “Later.”

Alex returned the nod and set it on the nightstand. He went back to folding clothes. “You still need to take a shower, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll finish sorting this, if that’s okay,” Alex offered.

John shrugged. “That’d be great, I guess.” He gave Alex a wavering smile as he left.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Alex was flipping through _The Black Book of Secrets_ with his phone in one hand, John’s suitcase organized and packed away securely. John sat down next to him and lifted his case onto the ground.

“What’s up?”

“First of all,” Alex said, pointing at the book, “this is a dark children’s book. I hope it didn’t cause emotional damage or whatever.” John snorted. “Anyway, you don’t have nearly enough books.”

“I’m fine—”

“John, how many times have you read those two books?” Alex asked, with a raised eyebrow. When John just began counting on his fingers, Alex snickered. “See? Let’s go to a bookstore.”

“Are there any cheap bookstores around here?” John asked. Alex handed the phone over. John scrolled through an old, ugly website and glanced over at Alex. “Huh. It’s cute.”

Alex nodded. “It’s forty minutes by foot.”

John nodded slowly. “Long walk, but okay.”

“Hey, we are in _no_ shape to be paying for a taxi right now.” Alex butted him with a shoulder.

John shoved him back and smiled. “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

The 40 minute walk turned into an hour-and-a-half endeavor when Alex became determined, halfway through, to find an ice cream place before they went book shopping. They’d passed an ice cream shop a while back, but they couldn’t remember exactly where, so they ended up wandering. It was scenic, sure, but John was getting slightly fed up by the time they finally found a little place called Emack & Bolio’s. At least the rain had stopped.

Alex convinced him to get blackberry ice cream.

When they finally sat down at one of the little tables out front, John cast Alex a glance, then stopped, looking stricken. “Son of a bitch.”

Alex looked up from his espresso cone and raised an eyebrow. “You good?”

“You had your phone with you this whole time.” John looked to the sky and whispered, “Why?”

“Oh my God.” Alex shook his head, trying and failing to hold back laughter. “ _Oh my God.”_

John sighed and took a bite of his ice cream. “I’m gonna kill you.”

“You won’t,” Alex said smugly. John glanced up at him—he was a bit _too_ smug. “You _looooove_ me,” Alex sing-songed.

John groaned. “Shut up.” Alex wiggled his eyebrows. “Listen, I was talking to the coffee.”

“Oh, _sure,”_ Alex said, and John took a pronounced bite of ice cream.

Alex ate surprisingly daintily, which surprised John, but it was cute. They sat for a while after finishing their ice cream. Eventually, Alex leaned forward, looking thoughtful.

“John.”

“Mm.”

“We need to talk.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Are we breaking up?” he joked. “This is how breakups start.”

“Um, no.” Alex shifted uncomfortably. That caught John’s attention. Alexander Hamilton, so full of words, suddenly silent. It was peculiar.

“You okay?” John asked quietly.

“Yeah, um…” Alex sighed and met his eyes. “There’s no way to put this delicately, so. Your dad’s still looking for you, and he doesn’t believe George, and every day we don’t talk about him is one more day that you’re in danger.”

John drew in a sharp breath and exhaled slowly. He stared at his hands for a minute, then nodded. “Alright. I’ll talk to him.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Alex craned his neck to meet John’s still-lowered eyes, and John glanced up at him shyly. “You don’t have to—”

“Yeah, I do.” John held out a hand and Alex took it. “And I need to be civil, otherwise he won’t stop. I’ve just gotta play the game, yeah?”

“It’s not a game,” Alex said grimly. “John, c’mon, we can—”

“I’m gonna do it,” John said firmly, squeezing Alex’s hand. “I need to. As much for me as for him.”

Alex relented and returned the hand-squeeze. “When?”

“Let’s get books first,” John said, and gave Alex what he hoped was a confident smile. Judging by Alex’s concerned look, it wasn’t.

Alex held his hand all the way to the bookstore.

The store was nice. It felt more like a library than a bookstore. John couldn’t help enjoying himself. They wandered the aisles until they got to the science- and historical-fiction sections, where John got lost among the volumes. It was calming and mesmerizing, to be surrounded by that much _knowledge._

After a good hour, Alex put a hand on his arm. “John. We’re… we’re gonna run out of room for these books. I think we’re already out of room for these books. How are we gonna carry these back to the hotel?”

John opened his mouth to protest, then left it open when he saw the mountain of books that he’d accumulated. “I… I think we can stand to lose a few of those.”

Alex nodded slowly. “I think so, too. I was thinking like, five.”

“I was thinking like, two,” John admitted, a smile dawning on his face. “I’m—” He broke off, laughing breathily. “I’m just gonna go with two.”

Alex stood still for a moment, and the laugh he let out was a little choked. He looked like he was watching a meteor shower.

“You okay there?” John asked, nudging him.

Alex nodded, coughed, took a few steps back. “Let’s pick out those two books, then.”

John looked helplessly at the pile. “I was gonna choose two at random, honestly.”

“Awesome. Perfect. I’ll be—over there.” He gestured vaguely and dodged behind a bookshelf.

John shook his head wonderingly and chose two books from the pile. He wandered up to the front, paid for them, then went searching for Alex.

He found him in the Classics section, browsing through T authors.

“Thackeray?” John asked skeptically.

Alex jumped. “Oh, yeah. He wrote satire, and stuff.”

“ _And stuff,”_ John drawled.

Alex shot him a glare. “Did you get your books?”

“Yep.” John held up the bag and tilted his head towards the exit. “Shall we go?”

“Allow me to escort you, Princess Laurens,” Alex purred, offering a hand.

John stifled a laugh. “Of course, Mister Hamilton.” He took the proffered hand, and they walked back to the hotel like that.

When they got back to the room, they still had 3 hours until _Sondheim,_ so Alex handed the phone reluctantly over to John.

John gave him a smile before dialing the number. His finger hovered over the call button for a split second, and then he made his decision. He felt a twinge of disappointment when Henry didn’t pick up. His voicemail was as cold as ever. When the tone sounded, John nearly choked.

“Hi, Henry,” he said, recovering quickly. His voice was just barely shaking. “It’s—it’s John. I—um—I thought it’d be a good idea to—”

“Jack?” the line crackled to life. John closed his eyes and tried to decide whether or not it was a good thing.

“Yeah.”

“Where are you?” Henry asked, voice strained. “Where have you been? What are you doing? Are you with anyone?”

“Jesus,” John said, huffing out a laugh. _Someone could think you were an actual, concerned parent,_ he wanted to say. “I’m fine. I’m in Boston right now, but I’ll probably be somewhere else tomorrow. I—I’m on a road trip.”

Henry Laurens was silent. Then, almost disbelieving, “You choose _now_ of all times to go on a _road trip?”_

John couldn’t help it. He laughed harshly. “Well, I’m not exactly welcome home, am I?”

Henry exhaled sharply. “But a road trip, Jack?”

“I—things happened,” John said, tone softer. “I’m with a friend. It’s good.”

“Are you with Mattie?” Henry asked. “I haven’t seen her since you left.”

 _Since you kicked me out,_ John thought. “No, I met him at Mt. Vernon. I haven’t talked to her since I trashed my phone,” he said.

“And that was Martha’s doing?” Henry asked, tone cold again.

“No,” John lied easily. “I just know you.” There was a pause, and then John went on, “Anyway, just make sure she’s safe. I’m with Alex Hamilton. He was staying with Senator Washington, and I met him in a diner. He—well, he punched me in the face and we became friends.” John could feel a stupid smile making its way onto his face, and he really didn’t care.

He looked at Alex, and he could see his expression mirrored. He took his hand.

“Jack,” Henry started, then fell silent. “Why don’t you come home, and we’ll talk this out in person? I’m sure we can work around your… issues.”

John steeled himself, then said firmly, “No. I just… I need some time alone. Away from all of that. We’re going across the US, you know. We’ve been to New York and Maine and I don’t know where we’re going next, but it’ll be good.” He took a shuddering breath and said gently, “I just need time.”

“Okay,” said Henry, at length. “But I don’t like it. Just come home sometime.”

John nodded to himself, smiled at Alex. “One more thing,” he said. “They’re not… it’s not an issue, or whatever. I’m gay, and I just… am. I know that it’s hard for you to see, but it’s not something that we can _work around._ It’s just me, and you can’t work around it without cutting me out entirely.”

There was a tense silence, and then Henry said, stonily, “Come home soon, Jack.”

John paused, closed his eyes, and said, “Bye, Henry.”

“Goodbye, Jack.”

There was a click, and then silence.

John let Alex hold him for a long time. If he hated himself a bit for it, it didn’t matter enough to make him let go.


	6. “You’re telling me you’re a god?” “I—I mean, of course I’m a god, but I’m not following.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein John doesn't know how to manage finances and the two of them explore a castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd normally put this at the end, but I figured that links should go at the top. This chapter includes references to [Dreaming](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e8xni3EcIbc) and [Karaoke](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I3zpFDvst5M) by Smallpools, as well as [Another Night On Mars](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AJTR3c3fx74) by The Maine. (Edit: Another Night On Mars' audio is very quiet in that video, for me at least. Apologies.) They're all exceptional songs, and I've listened to them frequently while writing this story. Enjoy!

_Sondheim on Sondheim_ was fun. Alex especially liked the bits from _Into the Woods,_ because those bits he _knew._

They’d already packed their bags before the musical, because they couldn’t exactly afford another night in Boston, and they had agreed to start driving that night. They started driving in relative silence, John in the driver’s seat for once, and Alex reading _The Black Book of Secrets_ by flashlight.

It really was a dark story, but Alex found himself enraptured. It was a children’s book, sure, but he loved it.

He was peacefully reading when his phone landed on the page in front of him, obscuring the sentence he was on. He glanced at John questioningly.

“Music, Alex,” John said. “I’m going to fall asleep, I’m so bored.”

“Well, I’m sorry that I like the book _you_ borrowed me,” Alex snipped, and began looking through his accumulated music. He grinned when he spotted an album. “I’m getting a flashback to last night,” he said, and plugged the phone in.

John’s face broke out in a grin when he heard the song. “Ah, Smallpools.” His face suddenly scrunched up, like he’d tasted something sour.

“What’s up?” Alex asked.

“I was laying on you, wasn’t I?” John asked, and shot Alex an apologetic glance. “I was laying on your _lap,_ wasn’t I?” He looked mortified. “God, sorry.”

Alex snickered. “I’ll hold it against you forever, I promise. ‘Hey, John, remember when we first met and you were an affectionate drunk?’ You’ll never forget it.”

“Oh, God, not the repressed memories!” John cried, putting a hand over his heart.

“Wait, shut up—” Alex held up a finger, then launched into the song, _“We’ve got no place to go!”_

 _“Caught up in the rodeo!”_ John joined in, and they went on like that. _“Please, God, tell me we’re dreaming!”_

Alex watched John as he sang, with a joyous smile on his face. It was, he decided, beautiful. _Wait._ Alex rolled down the window and stuck his hand out. John laughed and rolled his down, too.

Alex watched the street lights flash by, illuminating John’s features in brief, sharp streaks. John took his eyes from the road to meet Alex’s eyes maybe more than was really safe, but Alex didn’t really care. Not when John’s free hand was raised alongside Alex’s, and they both knew all the lyrics, and everything was good. Everything would be okay. In that moment, Alex knew that.

They could get through this.

 _They._ It really had become a _them_ thing. It wasn’t just John anymore, dealing with his family and his life. Alex had set himself down in the middle somehow, and he wasn’t leaving. John’s problems were his, too. He wasn’t letting John go through this alone.

“The world can’t hold me down!” Alex shouted, and John smacked his arm.

“Wrong song, dumbass!”

Alex rolled his eyes. “The concept of ‘right’ is a concept created by humans and only widely accepted because it hasn’t been questioned.”

“Ooh, a rebellious teenager,” John said. “By all means, then, sing different songs that don’t even have the same tempo—”

Alex stuck out his tongue and changed the song.

“My God, you can’t just—in the middle of the song!” John’s voice took on a mock-pretentious air and he straightened his posture.

“You were the one who was complaining,” Alex pointed out. Then, loudly, as the line came up, _“The world can’t hold me down!”_

John and Alex both burst out into giggles, and Alex felt like he could absolutely _fly._ His heart felt too big for his ribcage and his lungs felt like they were floating. He couldn’t fight the smile on his face, and he didn’t think he wanted to.

“So, Connecticut?” John asked, and Alex nodded. “What’s there to do?”

Alex pulled up a map, and, after a moment of scanning it, said, “Well, there’s a trolley museum.”

“Hard pass,” John said with a small huff of laughter.

“Tough crowd.” Alex continued looking, sneaking a glance at John every so often. He seemed contented. Happy, almost, which didn’t happen nearly enough. When he was like this—relaxed, carefree—he looked downright angelic. Alex was too busy staring to mentally kick himself.

“Alex?” John asked, and Alex blinked.

“Right, right, sorry.” Alex glanced back at the map. “There’s a castle thing. Oh, and a ropes course.” He felt his stomach coil, but he pushed it aside. _Go back to flying._

John raised his eyebrows with interest. “I like the sound of castle thing and ropes course.”

Alex nodded quickly. “Alright, sounds like a plan.”

“Are they near each other?” John asked.

“An hour or so,” Alex answered. “Connecticut is small.”

“Apparently.” John tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Where to first?”

“Let’s go to the castle,” Alex suggested. “It’s in East Haddam. I’ll pull a map up when I’ve got us a hotel.”

“Okay.”

“Hey, there’s another shitty two-star hotel for fifty dollars a night,” Alex said with a bright smile. “And it actually looks clean!”

John took a deep breath. “I… Fine. But that’s only because I’m concerned with how much we spent in Boston. But _one night.”_

“Done,” Alex agreed, and made the call.

 

* * *

 

They got to the hotel at 1 in the morning. Alex got out of the car and began grabbing their bags from the back, wincing with the effort. John stood off to the side with a perplexed expression.

“I can get those, if you want,” he offered.

“Nope,” Alex grunted, heaving his suitcase to the ground. “I think it’s time you did the talking.” John blinked. “Go get us our room keys.”

“I—” John narrowed his eyes. “You’re the one who chose the hotel,” he accused with a pointed finger.

Alex shrugged. “Think of it as a learning experience.” He patted John on the shoulder. “Go get ’em, tiger!”

John shot him a glare that was more amused than annoyed and went into the hotel. Alex smiled to himself, grabbed another bag.

John emerged from the building 15 minutes later, looking exhausted and slightly frazzled. Alex raised an eyebrow.

“He chewed me out for getting here at one in the morning, even though we _very specifically_ said when we’d be here over the phone,” John lamented with a heavy sigh. “And then he made small talk.”

“Doesn’t sound that different from your high society, or whatever,” Alex said, and shoved John’s bag at him. John grabbed it with a quick smile of thanks.

“Yeah, except, in ‘high society’—” he made finger-quotes “—people don’t make small talk after they yell at you. They storm off in their fancy heels and refuse to serve you.”

Alex snorted. “That happen to you often?”

“Shut up.” John jingled the room keys, then handed one set to Alex. “We’re number twenty-two.”

Their room was nice, for a 2-star hotel. It was definitely nicer than the first place, at the very least. They had two beds, a table, and a bathroom, lit entirely by an impressive collection of lamps. After mutually approving the cleanliness of the shower, John and Alex collapsed in their respective beds.

Judging by the way John’s breathing evened out, Alex guessed that he’d fallen asleep the second his head hit the pillow. Alex, on the other hand, had a harder time. _Insomnia strikes again. Hah._

He tossed and turned for a while before finally pulling out _The Black Book of Secrets._ He finished it by 4 in the morning, and he was still wide awake.

 _Last time you didn’t sleep, John had a panic attack,_ his shithead brain reminded him. _Yeah, and there was little to no correlation,_ he told it, and shut his eyes for the millionth time, intent on falling asleep.

He didn’t know when sleep finally came, but he woke up to light streaming in through the thin curtains, lighting the dull room up and highlighting John, sitting on his bed, facing Alex. His tongue was stuck out a little as he wrote—or sketched—something in what looked to be a leather journal.

Alex watched him for a few minutes, because it was a truly captivating sight. John finally glanced up, catching sight of Alex. He froze for a second, then squeaked and threw the journal shut.

“Alex, good morning!”

Alex admired the heavy blush and bright eyes that adorned John’s face, taking his time with a reply, letting his eyes wander. “Morning,” he said finally, and yawned. His brain was too tired to reprimand him.

John blushed even harder, if possible, under Alex’s attention. He turned quickly and made to stuff the journal into his bag.

“Am I allowed to ask what that was?” Alex asked, sitting up and pulling the sheets around his shoulders.

John started. _“No,”_ he said, with finality. He shoved the journal into his case and zipped it shut.

“Alright then,” Alex said, holding up his hands. “I finished your book, by the way. That was a children’s book?”

John faced him again and nodded. “It was one of my favorites as a kid. My dad thought it was terrible, for some reason, so I read it in front of him just to piss him off. I think it worked.” His expression turned wistful. “That was when Mom was around, though. I stopped after… Yeah.” He set his face in a carefully neutral expression. “Anyway, breakfast?”

Alex nodded. “Oh, yeah. What time is it?”

“About nine,” John said. He held up Alex’s phone. “Strictly scheduling, promise.” Alex narrowed his eyes, but he wasn’t really suspicious, and it was okay anyway. He nodded. “The park opens at eleven, so we have as long as we want,” John continued.

“Breakfast?” Alex prompted.

“There’s a cute place called The Shack,” John supplied.

“Cute?”

“Cheap,” John said, with a raised eyebrow. “I’m not as terrible at this whole money managing thing as you seem to think.”

Alex shrugged and held up his hands. “I can never be quite sure.”

John flipped him off and disappeared into the bathroom.

 

* * *

 

The car ride to Gillette Castle was a half an hour, and John was driving again, so Alex picked the music. John’s nose scrunched up at first, and he muttered a, “The hell is this?” as the beginning of the song finally picked up. He listened with a scrutinizing expression.

 _“This one goes out to my closest friends,”_ Alex hummed, watching John’s expression. _“The ones who made me feel less alien, I do not think I would be here if not for them.”_

John glanced at Alex with a warm smile. “Mister Alexander, I didn’t know your music taste extended to the sentimental.”

Alex stuck his tongue out. “I have many faces.”

“You’re telling me you’re a god?” John asked teasingly.

“I—” Alex tilted his head. “I mean, of course I’m a god, but I’m not following.”

John laughed. “First of all, you can’t just declare yourself a god. Only like, Egyptian pharaohs can do that.” Alex snorted. “Secondly, Janus. Greek god of like, doorways and transitions and shit? Two faces?”

“I can’t believe this,” Alex whispered.

“What?”

“You’re a fucking nerd.”

John let out a bark of laughter. “Um, no, I just read the Percy Jackson books as a kid?”

“I have never heard of them,” Alex said, “so you’re still just a nerd.”

John made a choked noise. “I’m sorry, _what?”_

“Never heard of them,” Alex repeated. “Are they more children’s books?”

“Well, yeah,” John said. “But they’re more than that. They’re a wonderful story about independence, learning to stand up for yourself, and finding people who love you, even if they’re not what you’re first expecting. And they also teach you a bunch of cool shit about the Greek gods.” Alex just shook his head. “We’re making another stop at a bookstore. We are _stopping at another bookstore—”_ John pulled over and snatched the phone from Alex’s hands.

Alex sighed and let him take it, resigning himself to stare out the window at the passing cars. He hummed along to the end of the song and listened as another came on. These books couldn’t possibly be _that_ great.

Finally, John handed the phone back to him. Alex gave him an inquisitive look.

“There are a few stores ten or fifteen minutes from the park. We can grab books first, and then go to the castle.”

Alex nodded, absentmindedly skipping through a few songs. “Sure. Just… don’t spend too much money on these books. I can always complete my collection _after_ we finish the trip.”

 

* * *

 

In retrospect, giving John free reign of a bookstore maybe wasn’t the best idea, considering their previous experience. He decided that John was a little too much like himself in that respect. Despite that, he still had not been expecting John to walk out with ten books, but there he was.

“I literally give you _one_ direction,” Alex said as soon as John opened the car door.

“I’m sorry!” John said. “I didn’t realize that he’d written another series, and I just…”

Alex put his face in his hands. “Damages?”

“Hundred and twenty,” John whispered.

Alex squeaked and looked up at him. “A hundred and twenty dollars? John!”

John covered his face. “Sorry! It’ll be worth it, promise.”

“It’ll be worth your car,” Alex muttered, rolling his eyes. “I’m never trusting you with money again.” John sighed and started the car.

Alex lectured him for the rest of the ride, and _damn_ John for making him care so much about this stupid trip. If nothing else, Alex was just glad for the break from everything. He was also concerned about John’s ability to keep up any semblance of financial stability once he was gone.

 _Gone._ Once the trip was over, they’d agreed to keep in touch, hadn’t they? Of course they had. Alex didn’t trust himself to keep that promise, though. He had a history of breaking things. Of breaking promises.

They arrived at the park at about 10. John found a picnic table and thrust the first book into Alex’s hands, then cracked open one of the later, heavier volumes. Alex scrutinized the cover for a moment, then flipped it open. _I Accidentally Vaporize My Pre-algebra Teacher,_ was the first chapter title. Alex smiled.

Alex’s phone went off at 11, and John held up a hand. “I set an alarm.”

“Of course you did,” Alex said sarcastically.

“So, how ’bout a castle?” John asked, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off of his shirt.

Alex sighed and nodded. “I have to say, this Percy kid has a sense of humor,” he said as they made their way across the field.

“I told you they were good books,” John said, and bumped shoulders with him. “I don’t spend one hundred and twenty dollars on books lightly, you know.”

“Could’ve surprise me,” Alex muttered. He gave John a quick smile, because he didn’t really mean it. It was a nice, sunny day, and he’d just been reading a good book. He didn’t think he could be angry if he tried.

They bought tickets and stepped inside the castle. It was made of stone, and had been built in 1919 as a mock-up of a medieval castle. The inside had 19th-century decor, which Alex couldn’t help but scoff at.

John shot him an annoyed glare.

“I mean, come on,” Alex said. “You’ve got this castle whose outside is made of stone and looks entirely like it came from the Dark Ages. And the inside is some quaint nineteenth century cottage?”

John rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Yeah, it’s a little odd.”

“You could say it’s—”

“Don’t.”

“A little _queer.”_ Alex grinned, and was rewarded with a groan and an elbow in the ribs.

“You’re terrible,” John said, and shook his head.

“You know, archaically—”

“Stop.” John began fast-walking away, and Alex had to jog to catch up. John was smiling almost fondly, and it brought a stupidly smitten expression to Alex’s face. He couldn’t care less.

“You think I’m funny,” he said, nudging John.

John stuck his tongue out and scrunched his nose. “I think you’re an idiot.”

“I’m in law school,” Alex pointed out.

“And you’re an idiot. Funny, that.”

Alex shoved him playfully, and they both broke out laughing. They were lucky to have gotten there so early—any other patrons would’ve gotten them kicked out long ago. As it was, they took a moment to recuperate, then got back to reading the plaques.

It was entertaining, and Alex spent the last bit of the museum trip looking up facts about the guy who built the castle.

“He asked Arthur Conan Doyle if he could marry Sherlock Holmes,” Alex exclaimed gleefully, waving his hands about. “Over telegraph, too. And then he played Holmes in a bunch of different plays that he’d wrote himself.”

John smiled as he led the way out of the castle. “He sounds very… _colorful.”_

“He sounds fucking _awesome,”_ Alex said.

“Are you going to make me watch something of his now?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be much,” Alex admitted. “He’s only got one short film, and it was made in nineteen-sixteen. We can YouTube it later.”

“Sure.” John glanced at him, and his expression was taunting. Alex raised his eyebrows in question. “You know, I distinctly remember _someone_ calling me a nerd this morning.”

Alex shoved him away, laughing. “You know, at least I had to look this up.”

“Mhmm.”

 

* * *

 

They got lunch to eat in the park, and continued reading their books. Occasionally, Alex would come across an especially good line and read it out to John. John would smile and tell him that he remembered that scene, and that there were even better ones in the later books.

It was 2 by the time they got back in the car. Alex was moving rapidly onto the second book, and John was driving again.

“So, ropes course?” he asked, keying the ignition.

Alex’s stomach coiled again before he plastered on a smile and said, “Yep, ropes course.” John glanced at him questioningly, and he tried to turn his smile into something reassuring. “It’s not super far.”

John wasn’t deterred. “Are you like… afraid of heights?” he asked, and Alex caught the mocking edge in his voice.

“Yes,” he said sharply, because that edge never meant anything good. In his childhood, it meant more fuel for torment. In adulthood, it meant judgement and rejection. He’d long since started using his unapologetic nature as a shield. “But I didn’t think it was such a big deal that I should stop you having fun.”

John raised his hands in surrender as much as he could while driving. “No need to get defensive, man. I just wasn’t expecting it, is all.” He paused. “So, if we were to go to the ropes course, what would you do the whole time?”

Alex shrugged. “I’ve got all these damn books now, might as well make use of them.”

John made a face. “But like, they’re our books. That we’re supposed to read together. That’s a thing, right?”

“Yeah, for couples in movies,” Alex told him, and rolled his eyes. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Okay,” John said slowly. “But hear me out. The books you have to read are shorter, and if you read them without me, you’ll catch up to me, and you’ll inevitably end up stealing the book I’m reading.”

Alex narrowed his eyes and sat upright from his position leaned against the window. “You don’t have to be like, aggressively nice to me. Just go to the damn ropes course.”

“You’re such a hypocrite,” John said flatly. “You’re telling me not to be aggressively nice, but you’re the one who’s insisting I abandon him in order to do something that you don’t even like.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “It’s totally different.”

“It’s not,” John said, and pulled to a stop at an intersection. “So where to next?”

Alex sighed. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” John said, and gave him a quick, wry smile before returning his eyes to the road. “So give me a state name.”

Alex paused. “We could go to New York. I go to school in Manhattan, so we could stop by there.” He thought for a moment, then said, “You know, Columbia has a pretty great medical program, too. We could do a tour or something.”

“Or you could just give me the tour because, you know, you go there.” John shot him another, more lopsided smile, and Alex’s thoughts short-circuited for a moment. He didn’t even catch himself staring. “Alex?”

“Oh, yeah, right, tours.” Alex nodded quickly, shook himself. “Yeah, let’s do that.” He pretended to be interested in the book, hiding his face from John. “It shouldn’t take too long, and lodging in New York City is insane, so let’s just keep going.”

John nodded. “Alright. To New York, then.”

“To New York,” Alex echoed. He started suddenly, lunging to point out the window past John. “Holy shit, look!”

Out past the bridge they were on, a vast expanse of water lay, tiny ships meandering along the horizon line and reflecting the mid afternoon sunlight. Alex smiled in wonder, not even registering that he was halfway on John’s lap.

“Do you want me to pull over?” John asked, and Alex gave him a hopeful look.

As soon as the car stopped, he threw open the door and hopped out, raising his phone to take pictures. John came to stand next to him, leaning against the car.

“Reminds me of Charleston,” he said with a peculiar smile.

“That a good thing?” Alex asked, glancing at him.

“Kind of. My best memories from South Carolina are from Charleston.” He laughed dryly. “I guess it’s not really saying a lot, but you know, it’s not as bad as it could be.”

Alex nodded. “That’s fair.” He tilted his head. “Anyway, we should get back on the road.”

“Alright, but you’re driving,” John said, and tossed him the keys. Alex caught them with a  raised eyebrow. “I wanna play a musical for you.”

Alex pursed his lips in consideration. “Do your worst,” he said eventually, and got back into the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to say that William Gillette was actually a really cool dude and everything about him in here is true, as far as Wikipedia says.


	7. “You’re meant to be together. You’re going to destroy the world.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex and John take a college tour, Alex sees a familiar face, and John makes an important point about trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Welcome to the calm before the storm. Next chapter is going to be fun. Anyway, the musicals referenced are [Be More Chill](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aaW7PdT9l_U&list=PLH1lW2s3fZcPPeaXNAyT90e8Gw6JoXSs-) and [Heathers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zAmmc7VFiZY&list=PLsKQ_-bOmMesrFyPdBYeOH-f2R2dTR8HH). There's a good chance you've already heard them if you're in this fandom, but in case you haven't, they're awesome and I highly recommend them. Enjoy!

“Oh, yeah, _this_ is my favorite character.”

John snorted. “Every character has been your favorite character.”

Alex’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel and he cast a quick glance at John. “Yeah, but _this_ one. Come on.”

“Yeah, but he’s evil,” John protested.

“But he has the best songs out of the whole musical!”

“I’m sorry, were you even _listening_ during _Michael In The Bathroom?”_ John shook his head and jabbed Alex in the ribs. “How can you just pass that up?”

“Ow! Because this is better,” Alex said dismissively.

John rolled his eyes and looked out the window. It was around 5, and they were almost to Columbia. They still hadn’t figured out where they were going to stay the night, but John had been too busy dramatically reenacting the entirety of _Be More Chill_ to really care.

They pulled into a student parking lot near the admissions office. John hesitated for a moment before pushing open his door.

“This is kind of pointless, you know,” he said as he stepped onto the pavement. “I’ve literally lost all of my funding.”

Alex shrugged. “Yeah, but here we are. And besides, scholarships are a thing.”

“Dude, this is an Ivy League school.” John shook his head and toed at the ground. “They’re not gonna give me a scholarship.”

Alex huffed and nudged him gently. “Just take a look around, yeah?”

John managed a reluctant smile and nodded. “Okay.” He paused. “But only if I get to play more musicals on the way to… um…”

“New Jersey?” Alex offered.

John shot him a skeptical look. “What’s even in New Jersey?”

Alex considered for a moment, and his face shuffled through an interesting series of expressions before he came up with, “Princeton?”

John snorted. “Yeah, no thanks. I need to worry about colleges, but not _that_ college.”

Alex rolled his eyes and began making his way across the parking lot. “I still think you’re selling yourself short, but whatever. Anyway, dinner before or after campus tour?”

John shrugged. “Before?”

Alex clapped his hands delightedly. “Awesome. We’re eating at my favorite café, because it’s cheap and cute. C’mon!” He grabbed John’s hand, and who was John to argue?

He led them down a series of quaint college streets before the scenery began to turn more urban. He stopped outside of a building whose front read “Brownie’s Cafe” and turned to look at John before pulling him inside. The inside was a little cramped, but still nice. The walls were white and the counters held an assortment of sandwiches, cookies, and other desserts.

Alex gestured towards the menu. John looked up at it for a few seconds, scanning his options. “Um.”

“Take your—” Alex began, but broke off. John turned to see him grinning broadly, and followed his gaze to where a man about his age was sitting, demurely drinking a coffee. “Aaron Burr, sir!” Alex called, and the man tensed. He looked up, and John could’ve sworn an expression of dread passed over his face. It was gone before he was even really sure it was there.

“Alexander,” he greeted, but didn’t move from where he was sitting.

Alex waved, turned to John, and said, “Sorry, my roommate. Ready to order?”

John raised an eyebrow and glanced at the man, then turned back to Alex. “Sure.” He remembered Alex mentioning him once, but it was either incredibly late or they were both drunk, because he didn’t recall much of what was said. He thinks there was something about John pissing him off.

Once they got their orders, they turned to find Aaron still seated at the same table, pointedly ignoring them. Alex paid his stormy expression no mind as he went to sit down next to him. John followed, somewhat reluctantly. Aaron didn’t seem at all pleased about this turn of events.

“John, let me introduce you to Aaron Burr, my roommate throughout college.” Alex gave Aaron a smile, which Aaron returned, albeit somewhat subdued. “Burr, this is John—” he paused, and glanced at John. Aaron raised an eyebrow in question.

“John Laurens,” John picked up, keeping his gaze and voice even. “Nice to meet you.”

Aaron’s eyes glinted with interest at his name. He looked between them for a moment before turning to Alex and asking, “So you two are an item, then?”

John, who had been sipping his tea, began coughing. Alex simply seemed at a loss for words. He pursed his lips and managed, “Um, no. I punched him five days ago and we became friends.”

Aaron seemed to despair in Alex for a moment before sighing and nodding. “That… sounds about right. So what brings you back to New York?”

John and Alex traded a glance before Alex said, “After I punched him, he insisted that we took a road trip across the States. That’s why we became friends.”

“Actually, we became friends through our mutual hatred of republicans,” Laurens cut in, and Alex shrugged.

Aaron looked between them again and muttered, “You’re meant to be together. You’re going to destroy the world.” He seemed to compose himself again, and his expression returned to that of pleasant neutrality. “Where are you going on this road trip?”

“Not really sure,” Alex said. “So far we’ve been through New York, Maine, Massachusetts, and Connecticut. We’re sort of… spontaneous.”

John couldn’t help but smile. They had no idea what they were doing, and it was _exhilarating._ “We were gonna go to New Jersey after this, but… is there anything to do there?”

Aaron thought for a moment, then shrugged. “If you’re looking at colleges, there’s Princeton.”

“That’s what I said!” Alex exclaimed, pointing at him. “But John’s a skeptic.”

“I’m not gonna go to Princeton,” John said flatly. “Even if my GPA was good enough, I’m broke.”

Aaron tilted his head, fixing him with an inquisitive look. “I thought you were at Charleston Law? Excuse my assumptions, but you should be able to afford anything.”

John’s throat constricted for a moment, and he took a few quick breaths. He took a sip of tea, looked at his hands, and said, “Yeah. My, ah… My dad’s not supporting me anymore. Long story.”

Aaron blinked. “Hm,” was all he afforded, and then, “best of luck. Columbia has a strong financial aid program, if you’re interested.”

John gave a tight smile and nodded.

“Anyway,” Alex said pointedly, and John thanked him silently. “How’s summer been treating you, Burr? Looking forward to our senior year?”

Aaron snorted. “Don’t remind me. I was just starting to enjoy the sun.”

“And here I was, thinking you were a vampire,” Alex said good-naturedly.

“No, it’s you who doesn’t go outside for days at a time,” Aaron said, and though his voice was humorous, his expression was flat.

“Touché.”

After a moment, Aaron stood and offered John a hand. “I should be going. Don’t get into too much trouble. It was… interesting to meet you, John Laurens.”

John took his hand and shook it. “Likewise.” He watched him leave before turning to Alex. He was quiet for a while before he said, “I remember you telling me about him. You were right, by the way. I’d _love_ to piss him off.”

Alex smiled brightly and John felt the knot that had been tying itself in his chest begin to unwind. “I _knew_ it. I fucking knew it. This is gonna be awesome.”

“You say that like we’ll actually have the chance to do that,” John pointed out, and Alex rolled his eyes.

“You heard him. Financial aid, and shit. You’ll be great.”

“If you say so,” John said, still cynical.

Alex wrinkled his nose and nodded towards John’s sandwich. “Eat, you pessimist. Then I can give you a tour of your future college.”

“You wouldn’t even be at school at the same time as me,” John protested. “I’d need to wait until next year to even apply.”

“There’s transfer programs that we can figure out,” Alex said confidently. “C’mon, it’ll be fine.”

John rolled his eyes and took a bite of his sandwich.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the tour was far less eventful, but John felt himself becoming more and more enchanted by the college. The way Alex talked about each of the places and classes like they each had their own personality was fascinating, not to mention all of the little anecdotes he told about random places on campus that were downright endearing.

John couldn’t tell if he was falling for the college or for Alexander Hamilton. Whatever the case, his only thought was, _I’m fucked._

It was around 7, and they were standing by the car, prepared to get back on the road when John stopped. He glanced around, and said, “I feel like we’re missing something.”

“It’s New York,” Alex told him. “Good luck finding it.”

“No, like…” John trailed off, biting his lip. “I’ve never been to Manhattan before, you know? So I feel like I need to look around before we leave. There’s a shitload of stuff here. We can’t just come for a college tour.”

Alex sighed and gestured around. “Alright, where to? We do have to find a hotel at some point.”

John shrugged. “I don’t know. What’s around?” Suddenly, he hit himself on the forehead. “Of course! How the hell did we miss Central Park?”

Alex paused, then slowly began laughing. “In all fairness, it’s been a long few days.”

“Yeah, but _still.”_ John shook his head, smiling. “How far is it to the park?”

“Ten minutes by foot. Maybe fifteen.”

John nodded triumphantly. “Let’s go.”

They walked hand-in-hand, and Alex didn’t say anything about it, but John was all too aware of the contact. He tried not to meet Alex’s eyes. They passed by a few cute cafés, John pointing out the various oddities in some of the windows.

John was excited about seeing so many pigeons in one place. It was stupid, but there were barely any in Charleston, and he found the birds fascinating. He used to like to photograph them, but it had been a long time since he’d done that particular hobby, and he was content with watching them flit about overhead.

They reached an expansive green. Alex dropped John’s hand, turned to him, and spread his arms. “We have arrived.”

John rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Mister Hamilton. Which path should we choose?”

Alex hummed, scanning the various walking paths that branched off from the entrance. He appeared to have settled on one, because he grabbed John’s hand again and dragged him down one to their left.

After a few minutes, John glanced at him. “You just chose this one at random, didn’t you?”

Alex smirked. “Alas, I’ve been found out. The Princess is too clever.”

“Oh my God, stop,” John laughed, shoving at him. Alex stumbled, but he didn’t drop John’s hand, so he was pulled with. They both glanced down at their linked hands, and burst out laughing again.

John’s hands itched to pull Alex closer, the setting sun and the trees a perfect scene, but he just froze. Alex didn’t notice; he recovered from the giggles quickly and tugged again on John’s hand.

“C’mon, it’s a big park and we forgot a flashlight. We should keep going so we can turn back before it’s too dark.”

John nodded, still slightly dazed, and let Alex pull him down the path.

They walked for a while longer, stopping by a small pond to watch the sunset. They sat on the grass, legs stretched out. Alex was talking about something to do with music and politics, but John could only register the intense urge to _draw_ him.

The setting sun outlined Alex in gold, set off the subtle highlights in his hair, lit his eyes up into a beautiful shade of chocolate brown. The shadows on his face and his lips glanced off of each other sharply, and John was captivated.

He’d forgotten his sketchbook in the car.

Once the sun had fully and truly set, Alex stood up, brushed grass off of himself, and offered a hand to John. “C’mon, we should get going if we want to get to Pennsylvania.”

John let Alex pull him up, adjusted his grip on his hand, and started back off down the path. He heard Alex huff out a soft laugh behind him, and he couldn’t help smiling. They were being stupid. He knew that, and he’d get around to asking Alex about it later, but for now, John just wanted to enjoy the walk and the feeling of Alex’s hand in his.

 

* * *

 

When they got back in the car at about 9:30, John curled up in the passenger seat, cloaked himself in a blanket, and buried his thoughts in the back of his mind as he opened _The Lost Hero._

Inevitably, he got lost in thought, and ended up rereading the same sentence over and over again. He was going to die on this road trip, and he had only himself and Alex’s obnoxiously attractive _everything_ to blame. He sighed and hit himself in the face with his book.

“You good?” Alex asked, and John peeked over the top of the book. Alex looked slightly concerned, but his mouth was quirked up in a bemused smile. The lights of the city lit his face up and shrouded him in a soft glow. John groaned dejectedly and buried his face in the book again. “Something happen to Percy?”

“Well, yeah, he’s not even in the book,” John grumbled. _But that’s not it,_ he almost said.

“Hey, didn’t you have another musical to show me?” Alex said, and John shrugged. “C’mon, don’t be petulant. I’m invested in your dumb music plays. Please?”

John huffed a laugh, despite himself. “Fine. But first we need to figure out where we’re staying.” He spent a few minutes looking through his phone, then said, quietly, “There’s nothing.”

“What?”

“There’s… literally nothing. There is _nothing_ in New Jersey. There aren’t even hotels.” John couldn’t believe his eyes.

“You’re shitting me.” Alex held out his hand for the phone, and John handed it to him.

After a moment of scrolling, he handed it back. “There are no hotels in New Jersey,” he said, voice full of disbelief. “What the fuck?”

“I have no idea,” John said. “What’re we gonna do?”

Alex shook his head helplessly. “Anything in Pennsylvania?”

John sighed. “Do we really have to?”

“Do we really have to what, have a place to stay?” Alex asked sarcastically.

“Well, no, but do we really have to stay at a hotel?” John gestured vaguely around them. “Can’t we just like, sleep in the car?”

“John, your car is tiny,” Alex said.

“My car is big enough to sleep in,” John said adamantly.

Alex just shook his head. “Princess Laurens, you’re supposed to be the one with the high taste.”

“This is Princess Laurens being lazy as hell,” John said dryly. “C’mon, do it for the experience, or whatever.”

Alex got a pained expression on his face. “This is all because you’re too lazy to look something up on your phone.” John shrugged. “Your backseat is too small for two people,” Alex said. “Just find us a hotel.”

John sighed. “Okay, but at some point we need to do that.”

Alex coughed and muttered, “When we sell your car to make up for all of your impulse spending.”

John hit him and turned back to his phone. “Okay, there’s a nice-ish hotel for eighty a night.”

“Shit,” Alex said, surprised. “Call in, then.”

“It’s in a suburb of Pittsburgh, though,” John warned.

Alex sighed and said, “Do it for the car, John.”

After he made the call, he put _Heathers_ on and turned back to his book. He pulled the blanket tight around his shoulders and began to doze. He listened absently while his mind drifted, until the first chord of _Candy Store_ jolted him out of his daze.

Alex turned to him with a grin. “Sounds _zesty.”_

John knit his eyebrows and shook his head, but he knew that he was smiling fondly. “You’re such a fucking nerd.”

“Oh, like you don’t know all the words,” Alex countered.

John rolled his eyes. “Fair.”

“Wait, you do know all the words?” Alex asked in disbelief. “How do you remember all of these? You had the entirety of _Be More Chill_ memorized, too.” He squinted. “I don’t believe you, for the record. There’s no way you know this whole thing.”

John yawned and began singing along tiredly. He rubbed at his eyes and yawned again, but he kept it up. He grinned at Alex and emphasized _lame-ass,_ but Alex had his eyes trained on the road and John thought he could make out a faint blush on his face.

 

* * *

 

They got to the hotel at 2, and John grabbed the bags before Alex could say anything. “I am _not_ doing the tired, angry hotel owner thing again. _You_ are doing the talking.”

Alex just laughed. “That’s fair. Princess Laurens is above talking to peasants, is that it? Had a taste and you didn’t like it?”

“Precisely,” John agreed, smiling.

When they got to their room, John sighed and collapsed on one of the beds. “It’s been a long day. That’s not just me, right? This was a long day.”

Alex nodded mutely and sat down on his bed. John watched as he bit his lip and his brow furrowed. He shook his head minutely, and, still looking unsure, reached for his bag.

“What’s on your mind?” John asked, and Alex jumped.

“Nothing,” he mumbled.

John raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Once they’d gotten changed and John settled back under his covers, he turned his attention back to Alex. He was sitting up on his bed, back hunched, reading _The Lightning Thief._ He still looked uneasy.

“What’s up?” John prompted, and Alex glanced up at him, looking half-surprised and half-annoyed. “Oh, c’mon. That wasn’t a real answer. This is an us thing, remember? We work through shit together.”

“When did that become an us thing?” Alex asked.

“Since that first day, when you read my texts even though I didn’t want you to.” Alex raised and eyebrow and John glowered. “You know what I mean. Even if it’s hard to talk about it, we figure it out together.” He sat up.

“I—” Alex sighed, frustrated. “I know. But this is like… weird. I don’t want to ask about it.”

“It can’t possibly be weirder than the _Dead Girl Walking_ thing,” John pointed out, and Alex flushed immediately.

“Shut up!” A pillow hit John square in the face, but he laughed anyway. “I can’t be blamed for that! You were the one doing the weird singing thing.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Anyway, I don’t know. It might be weirder.”

“Unlikely,” John said. “I’m never going to let you forget that, by the way. It’ll be your wedding and I’ll be telling everyone about how you kissed me because I showed you _Heathers_ for the first time.”

“You’d better not. It was an accident. And besides, it was only on the cheek.” Alex rolled his eyes, but the uncharacteristic nervousness found its way back into his frame. “I just… Oh, fuck it.”

“That’s the spirit,” John said, and Alex threw another pillow.

“I have insomnia,” Alex said plainly, and began fidgeting with his sleeve. He didn’t meet John’s eyes. “I can’t… I can’t really sleep super well, unless I’m sleeping… with somebody else?” It came out as a question, but John nodded in understanding.

“If you wanna share a bed, you just have to ask,” John said, trying to ignore his racing heart. It was climbing up his throat and getting in the way of speaking. “It’s whatever, and you need more sleep anyway. If I can ever help with anything, just say so.”

Alex looked up at him, and his expression was a mixture of surprise, relief, and bewilderment. “Wait, really? You’re just… cool with it?”

John shrugged. “For one thing, gender norms are stupid. For another, I’m not gonna tell you to just figure out your insomnia yourself, or something. And we’re friends. You can trust me with this stuff.”

“It’s only been five days,” Alex said quietly.

“Alex, you know about my fucking family situation. You basically manage my finances. I’ve let you in on everything in my life, because I _trust_ you.” John threw up his hands. “It’s this crazy thing that people do, you might try it out sometime.”

Alex was quiet for a long time, and John almost wanted to take back what he said. Almost. But it needed to be said, and they both knew it, so he let it stand. Finally, Alex said, “Fine. Can I still sleep with you?”

John almost made a joke, but he decided it might be a bad idea. “Yes, because I’m your friend, and friends do stuff for each other.”

Alex nodded. “I know. Thanks.”

 

* * *

 

It was 3 when John murmured, “I can tell that you’re still awake.”

“Damn,” Alex whispered back, and John chuckled.

“What’s up? I’m not doing it for you?” He could practically hear Alex’s eyeroll.

Alex didn’t reply, but John heard the rustling of blankets and then Alex’s arms were snaking around his waist and pulling him close. John could barely hear over the sound of his heartbeat, but he could feel Alex’s breathing even, and he didn’t dare move.

He was too nervous to actually adjust, but he let his arm rest on Alex’s waist and took a moment to examine his face. John was too nervous to fall asleep, too, but the view was nice.

Alex’s hair fell loose around his face and they’d forgotten to close the blinds, so the moonlight cascaded over him like a waterfall. It made the contrast that much more prominent, and brought out the shape of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips. John just wanted to _draw_ him.

He thought back to that morning, when Alex had woken up to him doing just that. The sketchbook was still in his bag. If he was going to make a habit of drawing his friend, he was going to have to be a bit more discreet about it.

 _You just gave him a lecture on trust,_ his asshole brain reminded him. It was right, though. He could think of a million ways that Alex could use it against him. He resolved to just ask in the morning. He had no guarantee that he would either remember or have the guts to, but it had to count for something.

He was distracted by a buzzing behind him. He reached blindly for Alex's phone, not daring to turn for fear of waking Alex, and felt around on the nightstand. He brought the phone around to his face and squinted.

_[2:31 AM]_

_gwash: I’m sorry it’s late, but have you talked to John yet?_

_gwash: Martha won’t let me sleep until I’ve asked._

John bit his lip, looked at Alex again, and whispered, “Fuck it.”

_[2:33 AM]_

_You: hi, this is John_

_You: Alex is asleep but I talked to Henry on Tuesday night_

_You: I didn’t want you freaking out or whatever_

_gwash: Oh, thank you, John. How’d you manage to get Alex to sleep?_

_You: he’s a fucking gremlin but using me as a teddy bear has seemed to do the trick_

_gwash: Ah. Well, it’s late, so I’m going to retire. Goodnight, John._

_You: “retire” lmao_

_You: sorry goodnight_

John set the phone back on the nightstand and decided that that was maybe the weirdest texting conversation he’d ever had. Whatever the case, some inner turmoil had finally worked itself out, and as he draped his arms back around Alex, he felt himself growing drowsy.

He made a mental note to tell Alex about his conversation with Washington before he drifted off. His dreams were a pleasant kind of nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note: the New Jersey thing came about because I looked up tourist attractions in New Jersey and it came up with nothing, and then I looked up hotels in New Jersey and again came up empty handed. I... wasn't sure what to do with that, so I just dropped it. Also, friendly reminder that you can send me writing requests at my [tumblr](https://2000-bees-in-very-comfy-pajamas.tumblr.com/). Thanks for reading!


	8. “What I don’t appreciate are your Benvolio levels of avoidance.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slow mornings, two idiots learn communication, and John accidentally forces a confession.

Alex didn’t want to open his eyes. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to remember his stupid confession from last night. He mostly didn’t want to wake John, because he was warm, dammit. But his phone was buzzing, so he steeled himself and cracked open an eye.

He hadn’t realized how close he and John were. John’s face was inches from his own, and he could make out each individual freckle on his face and every curl on his head. Alex’s breath hitched involuntarily.

Luckily, John didn’t react except to curl his fingers a little tighter into Alex’s shirt. Alex allowed himself a moment to relax before he reached carefully around John’s sleeping form and grabbed his phone from the nightstand.

There was a text from George.

_[7:12 AM]_

_gwash: Oh, God. You two are practically the same person._

_gwash: Please don’t get convicted for murder whilst road tripping._

Alex’s brow furrowed and he nudged John. When John didn’t stir, he elbowed him a little more firmly in the ribs. John cracked an eye open.

“Ow,” he murmured sleepily.

“Any idea why George is telling me that we’re literally the same person?” Alex asked. “He seems really concerned about it.”

John squinted and sighed tiredly. “Last night, you’d fallen asleep for like, the first time in forever, and I didn’t want to wake you up. Washington texted, I replied, you can see what we talked about. You needed sleep.”

Alex tensed for a moment, but he forced himself to relax. He wasn’t mad. He _wasn’t._ Maybe he wanted to be, but as much as he protested, he _did_ trust John. A little niggling voice in the back of his head kept telling him that, _no,_ this was a _bad idea,_ but he was past caring. John had made an important point last night, and he decided that maybe, just this once, it would be okay. “Just…”

“Don’t do it again,” John agreed. “I’ll ask next time, but it’s impossible to get you to sleep.”

Alex just nodded and reminded himself that this was _John._ “You called me a gremlin,” Alex said, after another moment.

“I am not wrong,” John countered. “Why the fuck are you up so early, anyway?”

Alex snorted. “You don’t even know what time it is.”

“I know that it’s too early to be alive,” John said, and closed his eyes again, tightening his grip on Alex.

“It’s seven in the morning, since you didn’t ask, and we should actually do something soon.” Alex yawned and poked John’s cheek. “We don’t exactly have anything planned, so we should start looking at whatever’s in Pennsylvania.”

“Later,” mumbled John, and buried his face in Alex’s collarbone. Alex chalked it up to him being too tired to really know what he was doing, but that didn’t stop his pulse from racing. “Too early.”

“And _I’m_ the gremlin here,” Alex teased, but he didn’t think that John heard him. There was no way he was getting back to sleep at that point, so he resigned himself to resting his chin on John’s head and scrolling through his phone.

After some time, during which he got through his Twitter feed and cleared out his email, Alex felt John shift beneath him and he glanced down. “Morning. You planning on getting up now?”

John shrugged and said, “Only if it involves breakfast.”

“Breakfast it is.” Alex paused. “You wanna go for a walk and see what we can find?”

John gave him a lopsided smile, and Alex found himself unconsciously returning it. “I feel like we should get those crepes now.”

“That is the best idea you’ve had since you decided to drag me along on this trip,” Alex said, and sat up somewhat reluctantly. He could spend hours just laying there with John, but they had things to do. Still, John was warm and comforting, and he missed the closeness almost immediately.

John sat up next to him, stretched, and yawned, “Good morning, Pittsburgh!” with a cheery tune.

Alex squinted. “That’s a musical thing, isn’t it? And, for the record, we’re about an hour outside of Pittsburgh, so you’re wrong.”

“Well, yeah,” John admitted. “It’s supposed to be Baltimore, anyway, but we didn’t go to Maryland so I had to improvise.”

Alex just shook his head. He couldn’t believe that he had a crush on this nerd. He couldn’t believe he had a crush at all. He stood up and said, “I’m going to actually get ready for the day.”

“Yeah, yeah, do your thing.” John waved his hand and flopped back onto the pillows.

It wasn’t until they were sitting at the Perkins down the road that John got a serious look in his eye. He leaned forward and Alex felt a sense of dread settle in his stomach. “So, is that gonna be like… a regular thing?” John’s voice was awkward and unsure.

Alex recoiled a bit, and the dread in his stomach became a pit. “I mean…” he stopped. “It would…”

“The asking thing,” John reminded him. “Trust.” An idea seemed to strike him. He held up a finger abruptly and leaned down to grab his journal, which he’d brought with him. “For example.” Alex watched as he turned the pages carefully, smoothing out one in the middle and considering it for a moment before turning it so Alex could see.

Alex had been wrong. It wasn’t a journal—it was a sketchbook. The page that John showed him was filled with small portraits of… him. They were barely bigger than his thumb, so Alex found himself leaning forward to try to see all of the details. Each one was intricate and unique, drawn with skill and care.

“I thought it would be weird to draw you without you knowing,” John told him. “I was thinking, last night, that I should tell you about this, because I don’t want to betray your trust.” He flipped the page and there was another, bigger sketch of Alex. He was sleeping, and the window behind him was open.

Alex glanced up and met John’s eyes. John’s face was tinged pink. “So _this_ was what you were doing. Yesterday.”

John nodded. “You’re a good subject to draw. You get all these subtle differences between emotions. Like, if you’re angry, I can tell, but it’s not because you look angry. It’s because your eyes do this little thing and your mouth turns down a bit and you raise your eyebrows a little and you scrunch up your nose.” He bit his lip and looked embarrassed. “Point is, I wanted to know if this was okay. If it’s not, I promise not to draw you, because it’s a bit weird, but I just wanted to ask.”

Alex found himself at a loss for words. He was in awe. The drawings were amazing, yes, but there was something else that left him speechless. He didn’t answer for a long time, and he could tell that John was getting sort of antsy across from him. Finally, he asked in a small voice, “You… noticed all that? About me?” He shook his head. That wasn’t what he wanted to ask. “No, I mean… You took the time to draw all that? And think about that?” They still weren’t the right words, but he’d have to settle.

John gave him a nervous smile before saying, “Yeah, I don’t know. It’s just… It’s weird, sorry. I, uh… I—”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Alex interrupted. “By all means, you can keep drawing me, if you want, but like… why me? I’m really _not_ that interesting or great, you know.”

“But you _are,”_ John insisted, a little too quickly. He blushed. “I just… You’re so passionate about a lot of things? And you…” he trailed off, mumbling the rest.

Alex gave him a skeptical look. “Yeah, did _not_ catch that.”

John blushed even harder and buried his head in his arms. “You’re not allowed to make a joke.”

Alex tried to fight the grin on his face, and failed. “I make no promises, but I’ll do my best.”

John groaned in exasperation and lifted his head slightly. “You have a pretty face,” he muttered, and buried his head back in his arms.

Alex’s grin grew broader. “For real? I… actually don’t have a joke for that. Wow.”

John lifted his head and looked to the ceiling. “Thank all of the gods ever. I would have died.”

“Aw, ’cause you’ve got a crush?” Alex teased. His heart was in his throat, even though he was joking, and John was, too. He knew he should probably let it go, but he’d dug himself into a hole he couldn’t just hop out of.

“Nevermind,” John said, shaking his head. “I take it back. Your face isn’t pretty. You have a stupid face. You’re stupid in general. I’m never drawing you again.”

Alex just laughed. “No, no, by all means. It’s cute.”

“I’m going to destroy you.” John shot him a withering glare, but the effect was ruined by his profuse blushing. “You’re going to be dead.”

“Of course.” Alex patted his shoulder, his expression all mock-sincerity.

 _“Anyway,”_ John said pointedly, and looked back up at him. “Now that that’s over with, we had this whole conversation for a reason.”

Alex nodded, and suddenly his heart was in his throat for a completely different reason. He swallowed nervously. _This is stupid. You’re Alexander Hamilton. You can ask a question._ “Um, would it be okay if I… okay if _we…_ were to sleep—um. Were to share a bed more often?” He could strangle himself. How hard was it to say a goddamned sentence?

John didn’t appear to care. “Yes, that’s fine by me. Thanks for asking.”

“You’re welcome, _mom,”_ Alex said sarcastically, but his voice was working properly again, and he didn’t think he’d ever been more grateful to John than he was in that moment.

The waitress came shortly after and they ordered. John leaned forward again after she’d gone and asked, “So, any plans for the day?”

Alex hummed. “I was thinking one of those cheesy romance movie days where we stay inside and have lazy make out sessions.” His tone was mock-contemplative, but he could see a blush creeping up John’s neck.

“Um.” John couldn’t seem to find any words, and had to take a moment to regain his composure. He didn’t meet Alex’s eyes as he said, “Let’s go with staying in and binging Disney movies or something. I… don’t really feel like going out today.”

Alex smirked, and he knew that John could see it, even though he was pointedly avoiding Alex’s gaze. “With or without the make outs?” _Shut the hell up,_ his brain told him.

John narrowed his eyes, and Alex couldn’t help but feel like he was avoiding the question. It was weird—it was a joke, all he had to do was laugh it off and turn him down. Alex figured he was probably reading into it too much, but he couldn’t help shooting John an odd glance anyway.

John didn’t meet his gaze. “Did you bring your laptop with?” It was a total non-sequitur, and Alex knew John knew that.

Alex hesitated a moment before answering, but decided to let it slide. “Yeah, but I haven’t really had a chance to use it. We’ve been kind of busy.”

“Well, today’s your lucky day,” John said, and finally looked up at him. “Might as well make use of my Netflix subscription while it’s still under my dad’s name.”

Alex just hummed. He couldn’t shake John’s odd reactions. Maybe he’d overstepped his boundaries? Especially since he’d practically guilted John into sharing a bed. He stopped, took a breath, and closed his eyes.

“Alex?” John asked. “You okay?”

Alex nodded but didn’t open his eyes. “Yes, yeah. I’m good.” He felt a headache coming on.

They ate in relative silence after that, John occasionally throwing out ideas of what to watch. Alex’s thoughts drifted, though he tried not to dwell on anything. He was having a hard enough time forcing himself back into the present every time he drifted off anyway, and he could barely make out any of the words John was saying.

Eventually, John said something and stood up. When Alex tried to follow suit, his vision blurred. He caught himself on the table, registered John’s hand on his arm. He managed to look up and meet John’s fuzzy eyes before his vision blacked out.

When he woke up, the first thing he saw was a fan. It made him dizzy, distracted him from the fact that he had no idea where he was or how he’d gotten there. He watched it for a while until John appeared in his field of vision. He looked harried, his brows furrowed and his lips parted anxiously.

“Hi,” Alex said.

“Hi,” John replied slowly, studying Alex’s face. “Are you alright?”

“Um…” Alex tried to sit up, but his arms weren’t very steady, so he had to fall back and lean on his elbows. He tried to remember how he might’ve ended up there, but his memory was blank. “Yeah, I think so? I can’t sit up, but I’m still breathing, so.”

John blew out a breath and nodded. “Good. Um, I was really worried. Are you… Does that happen a lot?”

Alex paused, gave John a helpless look. “You know, I think it might help if I could actually remember what happened.”

“Oh.” John paused, gave Alex a look that had both of them collapsing into giggles. Alex didn’t even know why he was laughing, but he was, and John was, too, so he didn’t really care. “You blacked out,” John told him once their laughter died down. “You, uh… The staff at Perkins let us use the back room. You’ve been out for maybe… five minutes?”

Alex nodded slowly. He still couldn’t remember, but it sounded right. “I guess… I don’t know. I don’t pass out a lot, but it’s not completely implausible.”

John looked thoughtful. “You know, if it’s unusual, we might want to see a doctor about it.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “First of all, do you _really_ think we have the money? Second of all, it’s fine. I’m fine. It was just a dizzy spell, is all. Let’s go back to the hotel.”

John made a face like he wanted to argue, but ended up just shaking his head in exasperation. “Alright, fine, but if this happens again, I don’t care how much money we spend. You’re going to the doctor.”

Alex nodded and held out a hand. “Deal.” John reached over to take it, but Alex began to fall forward and had to drop it to hold himself upright. “Let’s, um. Let’s wait a bit before… yeah.”

John was too busy laughing to respond.

* * *

 

They eventually made it back to the hotel, though it took Alex much staggering and leaning on John. To his credit, he adamantly demanded to be let go the whole time, but John didn’t move his arm from around Alex’s shoulders, and Alex wasn’t actually sure he could stand on his own.

They both collapsed on John’s bed, Alex immediately burrowing under the sheets and John shaking his shoulder. “Before you pass out again, I’m doing this Netflix thing.”

“We never even decided on a series,” Alex mumbled.

“I’ll figure it out,” John assured him. “But first, I need to know where your laptop is.”

Alex sighed, motioned vaguely towards his suitcase. “It’s somewhere in there. And while you’re at it, get me a notebook and pencil.”

It took John some searching, and Alex was half-asleep when he sat back, but he’d found both the laptop and the notebook. “C’mon, shove over,” John said, nudging him. “I’m getting under the blankets, too.”

Alex grumbled, but he shifted aside. He grabbed the notebook and propped himself against the bedframe, watching for a moment as John situated the laptop and began setting up. Alex glanced down at the cover of the notebook. He flipped it open and began to write.

For the next couple of hours, Alex stayed like that, glancing up occasionally and asking John about the show, then going back to his notebook.

Eventually, as John’s responses became more and more detached, and Alex spent less and less time focusing on the show, the two of them lapsed into complete silence, with Netflix running like a soundtrack in the background.

Finally, Alex looked up, blew out a breath, and threw his pencil at the far wall. John glanced up, alarmed, as it fell to the ground. Alex looked to him, only then noticing the sketchbook lying open in John’s lap.

Wordlessly, they traded books, and Alex hummed as he looked over another portrait of himself. He was sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest and his notebook resting on them, writing with a serene expression on his face. It was drawn with so much attention and _delicacy_ that Alex could feel his heart swelling.

“Wow,” he breathed. “You’re… John, you’re really fucking talented.”

John met his eyes and smiled warmly. “You’re one to talk. Can I have a copy of this, once we’re done with the trip? Just… so I don’t forget.”

Alex nodded and they traded books again. As he skimmed over his own writing, he decided he’d need a much better way to return John’s favors. He’d journaled their trip so far, and made little notes in the margins like “new hobby: cryptids” and “trust is essential”, but it wasn’t nearly enough to match John’s masterpieces. John seemed content with his little vignettes, but Alex decided he’d need to do something better in order to fully repay him.

“Just… one thing,” John said, and shifted so he could see the notebook. It also meant he was pressed against Alex’s side, their faces inches apart. Alex mentally cursed him. John pointed to a spot towards the bottom of the page, and Alex scanned it over again. He’d spelled “Pennsylvania” as “Pensylvania”.

“Oh, fuck you,” Alex muttered. “No one knows how to spell Pennsylvania!”

“That’s the only place you spelled it wrong, though,” John said, and Alex just shook his head. They were both grinning like idiots.

“Well, I guess I’ll forever be remembered as the guy who can’t spell state names,” Alex said, his tone somber. “Years from now, historians will talk about how I spelled ‘Maine’ with three Ms and a Y.”

John snickered and bumped shoulders with Alex again before scooting back to his sketchbook. “Now you need to make a note of that.”

Alex smirked. “Noted.”

John looked slightly pained. “We make terrible puns.”

“You admit that _now?”_

John shrugged. “It’s true.”

“Yeah, but you’ve contributed in the past, so we have to bear the shame together.” Alex spread his hands in the air. “We’ll be that one couple who everyone avoids because all they do is bond over puns. Once we get started we never stop. Our friends live in constant fear.”

John scoffed and batted his hands down. “Are you suggesting that we’ll be a couple in the future?”

Alex froze for a moment. Of all the responses, he… probably should have been expecting that one. “You’re terrible,” he said, instead of answering. “You don’t appreciate my dramatic talent.”

John scrutinized him for a moment longer before saying slowly, “What I don’t appreciate are your Benvolio levels of avoidance.”

Alex’s stomach dropped. “Um. What?” he asked, eloquently.

John pursed his lips, and looked suddenly determined, like he’d come to a decision and he planned on getting something out of it. Alex felt panic flare in his chest.

“You avoid talking to me about stuff,” John said. “Like, weird stuff. You clam up and you won’t talk about it, like that night when we got really fucking smashed and you threw up out of nowhere, but you never really told me why it happened. Or the next day, on the bridge. When we were talking about pictures and you got all defensive, and wouldn’t tell me why. I let it go, because I’m a fucking pushover like that, but come _on,_ Alex. Did we not _just_ talk about trust?”

Alex’s chest constricted, and he was suddenly struck with just how much he did _not_ want to discuss this right now. “John, can we please—”

“Alex,” John said, and his tone was somewhere between assertive and pleading.

Alex sighed, looked away, didn’t meet John’s eyes. “It doesn’t matter. It’s stupid, John, _please—”_ John didn’t have to reply for Alex to know it wasn’t working. He took a deep breath and blew it out through his teeth. “Fine. _Fine.”_

He didn’t think he could lie, and he wasn’t even sure if he _wanted_ to, at this point. Maybe it would be better to just rip the band-aid off. Maybe he had been right, and this whole road trip was a bad idea. Maybe he should just _go._

But first, he owed John an explanation.

He took another breath and began, quietly, “I don’t really know how to say this. Um. I guess that I just… Fuck.”

John’s brow furrowed, and Alex didn’t want him to say anything, so he just waved his hands. John looked like he wanted to take back what he’d said, but Alex was _going to do this._

“When we first started this thing, I thought it would be just… something. I don’t know. That it would be over in a week or something and that I’d just be able to forget about it. And now, it’s gonna be over in a week or less anyway, because I can’t do anything right. I _especially_ can’t deal with _this_ right.”

Alex’s breathing had turned shallow, but he kept talking anyways. He was getting lightheaded.

“But now… I don’t know if I _want_ to forget.” He wet his lips, and he was half-aware of his hands gesticulating wildly, almost of their own accord.

“Alex, I don’t want to forget, either,” John said gently, too gently. Either he was treating Alex like a caged fucking animal, or Alex didn’t deserve this much kindness. Whichever it was, he didn’t want it. “But why do you say—”

“You’re going to ask why I think it’s over,” Alex interrupted abruptly, and he didn’t know where he was going to go from there. He _hated_ this. He was acting like an eleven-year-old with a crush and he should just learn how to deal with it, learn how to _be normal._

Alex scrubbed furiously at his face, his eyes. He couldn’t believe he was _crying._

“Alex, whatever it is, know that I probably don’t care,” John said softly. “Know that whatever it is, I’m still going to be your friend.”

“Exactly!” Alex shouted, his breathing growing shallower still. “My _friend._ And why should I believe that anyway, John? For all your talk of trust—”

“What, Alex?” John asked, and Alex hated how steady his voice was. How adept he was at _caring._ “I have never kept anything from you. It probably makes me naive and stupid, but so be it. I’ll take naive and stupid over bottling everything up inside. I’ll take it over tearing myself apart.”

And it was too much. “ _No,_ but what if this is a bad idea?” he asked, frantic. “What if this whole thing was a mistake? This is what happens when you make stupid, rash decisions, isn’t it? It ends up a mess.”

“Alex,” John’s voice was filled with confusion and concern. “How is this a mess? We’re doing fine. We’re doing great, actually. I’ve sort of reconciled with my dad, and we’ve been having fun. That was the point of this whole thing. So what’s wrong?”

Alex held his breath for a tense moment, then sighed softly. He squeezed his eyes shut. He was _going to do this._ “The reason I threw up that night? I was too busy thinking about pinning you against a wall to be anything but terrible for you.” He took another shuddering breath, didn’t let John speak. “I didn’t want to talk about the picture thing, because it’s different when I take pictures of you. You’re like a fucking piece of art, and I’m just… I’m _not_ you.”

John opened his mouth to interject, but Alex shook his head and waved his hands so violently that he could feel them shaking. John looked like he was about to cry, and Alex felt sick to his stomach.

“The reason I didn’t want to talk about it is because then this has to be over. I’m not—I’m not good at this, John, and I’m especially not good with people who are hurt. I’m no good to you when you need to heal, and I’m…” His voice gave out, and all he could do was let out a soft whine.

He scrubbed at his eyes again and whispered hoarsely, “I’m no good to you when I’m in love with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let it be said that I make notes to myself at the ends of chapters and this note was just, "Oh, what’s that, you ask? Oh, it’s just the sound of me being literally mURDERED BY ALL OF MY READERS INCLUDING MYSELF." Friendly reminder that you can send me requests at my [tumblr](https://2000-bees-in-very-comfy-pajamas.tumblr.com/)!


	9. “Don’t be stupid.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Healthy, proper communication, a couple of idiots, and another phone call of impending doom.

“I’m no good to you when I’m in love with you.”

There was a beat of silence. John kept replaying the line in his head, unable to reply. There was a panicked light in Alex’s eye, and John thought distantly that it was oddly reminiscent of a caged animal.

Another few seconds, and John couldn’t do anything but stare. Finally, he managed a choked, “What?”

At the same time, Alex began to speak, words cascading out of his mouth like he knew he needed to say _something,_ but he wasn’t sure what. “Wait, that’s not… I didn’t mean… Well, I did mean, but I know that things don’t work like that and that this is stupid and that I can’t _love_ you because we’ve only known each other for a few days! And I know that you hate when I use that as an excuse, but it’s not an excuse this time, it’s the truth, and—”

“Alex,” John said, and Alex fell silent, waiting. He had his eyes trained on John, and the panicked light had not dimmed. John didn’t know what he was going to say. He’d only spoken up to get Alex to stop talking, because he needed to _think,_ and for once, Alex wasn’t helping.

He didn’t look at Alex when he finally said, “I don’t… I don’t know if I’m in love with you.” Alex was silent, and John glanced up to meet his eyes. “I can’t…” He shook his head, frustrated. He didn’t know how to say what needed to be said, for once, and he could have hit himself. The _one time_ it really mattered, and he couldn’t form a coherent sentence.

Alex shook his head. “It’s—um. It’s alright. I’m gonna pack up, I can catch a bus. No big deal.” He rolled quickly out of the bed and stood, but John caught his wrist.

“Wait, Alex.” Alex froze. “You can’t just… not let me answer. Sit down.”

Slowly, Alex sat back on the bed, but didn’t look at John. It would have to do.

“Listen. It’s like you said. I’m shit at this.” John laughed self-deprecatingly. “I’m terrible at putting words to what’s going on inside my head, but I’m gonna try to say this. Okay?” Alex gave an almost imperceptible nod. “Okay.” John blew out a breath. “I don’t know if I’m in love with you, because I’ve never been in love with anyone, and I don’t know how it feels. I don’t know how you’re supposed to know if it’s love and I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell you that it is.”

He realized that he hadn’t let go of Alex’s wrist. After a moment’s consideration, he let go and took Alex’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Alex still didn’t meet his eyes.

“I’ll tell you what I do know, though.” John took a deep breath. If Alex had said it, so could he. “When we first met, I didn’t know you at all. I’d seen you for five seconds before you started throwing punches, and I had already thought, ‘Wow, this guy is cute. Terrible manners, but _damn.’”_ John laughed softly, and though Alex didn’t, he did finally look up. John caught his eye, determined not to let him shrink back again.

“I know you, now. And you might argue with me, but living like this… Even for just a few days, you get to know a few things about one another. And I… I learned some really nice and utterly terrifying things about you. I learned that your sense of humor is almost the same as mine, and you’re clever about it, too. It’s not just stupid jokes, it’s puns and inside jokes and references that only we understand, because we’ve been through those things together.

“I learned that you’re opinionated as hell, and that even though we don’t usually disagree, you’ll find a way to debate me into the ground anyway. It’s impressive and a little counterproductive at times, but it’s so _you,_ and it’s important.

“I learned that your mind works faster than your mouth or your pen, and it’s vast expanses of space and time and knowledge. It gets you into trouble sometimes, but it’s _you_ and everything you know and everything you want to learn.

“I learned that the way you smile when you’re sad is different from the way you smile when you’re happy, or excited, or planning someone’s verbal slaughter, but that the way you smile is one of the best parts of you. That you need to do it more often, because it lights up your face like you’re the sun, and that’s something that you deserve.

“I learned that with you, I feel safe. I’ve never felt safe before. There was always something to be afraid of before—my father, my friends, the world. But now… I guess, when everything’s falling apart, I finally found somewhere—some _one_ who I can just… live with. Be myself with. Unapologetically. I don’t have to be careful or afraid.

“I learned that you’re gorgeous, in every sense of the word, and I would die before I let you go so easily.”

John didn’t know where all of those words came from. He didn’t know how he’d managed to say them all without stuttering, without backtracking, without hesitation. He didn’t know what he had expected to say, but it wasn’t that. He was so glad that was what he’d said instead.

Alex was staring at him, seemingly at a loss for words. “I—” he stopped, shook his head, and looked down at his hands. “Really?” he asked, in a small voice, when he looked back up.

“Really,” John said, and nodded.

Alex began to smile, and then he started to laugh. John watched him in utter confusion for a few moments. Had he said something wrong? It seemed like a good laugh, but…

“God, I’m sorry,” Alex gasped, after the laughter had subsided somewhat. “I just… Oh my God. We’re such idiots.”

John started laughing then, too, and buried his face in his hands. “We totally are! How the fuck did we not have this conversation sooner?”

Alex just shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, but we’re so stupid.”

“How could you think I didn’t like you?” John asked, incredulous. “I mean, come on. Every time you opened your mouth I turned red. I fucking drew a picture of you sleeping! I am _the most_ obvious.”

Alex shrugged. “I don’t know. Really. I don’t know.” He glanced down, sobering. “I guess… things don’t work out for me a lot. So I didn’t expect this to, either. I’m… I’m bad with damaged people, people who need help. And I was afraid. So I guess I convinced myself that there was no way you felt the same.”

“Well, you were wrong,” John said simply, and Alex nodded, smiling again. “And you’re not bad with people, Alex. You’re a little brash and you have a big personality, but it’s not a bad thing. It can be a really fucking good thing, okay?”

“Okay,” Alex said softly, and John wasn’t sure if he really believed him, but he didn’t feel like pushing it.

John wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do next. It felt so… weird. They’d both just confessed their feelings, and it was great, but John still felt apprehensive. Did it mean that they were a couple now? Or did it just mean that they had this profound new knowledge of each other?

Eventually, John settled on, “So, hear me out, we order lunch or something and continue our Netflix marathon?”

Alex gave him a smile and settled back in the bed, snuggling up against him. John couldn’t help smiling, and as they started the show back up, he felt the strangest sense of joy bubble up inside him. He dropped a kiss on Alex’s head, and let his thoughts slide. He didn’t need them. Not when he had Alex by his side, and the knowledge that he wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, but John could feel Alex not-so-subtly glancing up at him every so often. He sighed indulgently and glanced down. “You want something?”

“Sorta,” Alex said, and John was suddenly struck with _how close they were._ Alex must have seen it on his face. He smirked, leaned up, and kissed John. It was small, soft, and almost chaste, but John had already lost himself in the feeling by the time Alex pulled away.

John blinked, watched as a blush began to rise on Alex’s cheeks. He smiled slowly, because _damn, he got to do that now._ He took the front of Alex’s shirt gently and pulled him in for another kiss. This time, it was lasting, and Alex met John’s lips like he was searching for air and he’d finally found it, like he’d been _longing_ for this. John smiled into the kiss and pulled Alex closer.

Alex’s hands found their way to John’s neck, John’s chest, John’s waist. John jumped a little when he felt Alex’s tongue snake across his lips, but disguised it with a laugh, and opened his mouth for him.

Alex lazily explored John’s mouth, his hands moving from John’s shirt to his hair, threading through it and tugging it out of the ponytail that John had meticulously pulled it into. John whined half in annoyance, and half in something else that made Alex’s breath hitch against his lips.

After another moment, Alex pulled back again with a grin. John raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t pleased with the interruption, but it had to be _something_ important, because he was pretty sure that Alex didn’t want to stop, either.

“We’re doing the thing,” Alex said urgently.

“Um… what?”

“The _thing,”_ Alex insisted. “You know, the cheesy romance movie thing with the lazy make out sessions.” He broke into a smile that almost convinced John to refrain from rolling his eyes. Almost.

“You’re kidding,” John said flatly. “You stopped kissing me to tell me that we were kissing?”

Alex laughed and exclaimed, “No! I stopped kissing you to tell you that we were kissing like we were in a cheesy romance movie.”

“I think you mean cute,” John corrected. “A cute romance movie. We’re the cutest.”

Alex paused, blinked, and tilted his head. “You really think so?”

John rolled his eyes again. “Well, yeah. Isn’t that the thing? Couples think they’re the cutest couple, because it’s them, but really they’re just annoying everyone with their excessive PDA.” Alex raised an eyebrow. “But I _know_ we’re the cutest,” John added quickly.

“Yeah, super romantic,” Alex deadpanned, eyebrow still raised.

John just shook his head. “We can’t all be perfect, Alex.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alex demanded, but at this point, they were both laughing, and neither really felt like answering when John kissed him again.

* * *

 

They had both dozed off with Netflix still running. Alex lay on John’s chest while John toyed lazily with his hair, half-asleep and listening to Alex snore softly. He still couldn’t believe that this was _something he got to do now._ He felt like he could fly.

Alex sniffed and his fingers twitched where they were balled into John’s shirt. John smiled faintly and dropped his hair to poke him gently on the cheek.

Alex grumbled, but he cracked one eye open and looked at John.

“Lunch,” John reminded him gently.

“Oh,” he said, and smiled. “Where should we order from?”

John shrugged. “You wanna choose?”

“Mmph,” Alex said, and buried his face in John’s shirt. “Surprise me. I’m asleep.”

John smiled and goddamn, he was smitten, because there was no way anyone else would’ve gotten away with that. As it was, he wormed his way out from under Alex and grabbed his phone from the dresser. He stood up and stretched, hearing a tired but appreciative noise from Alex, then began to pace the room as he searched for a lunch restaurant.

“Fuck it, we’re getting pizza,” John said, but got no response. He glanced up to find Alex curled up, hugging the blankets where John had been. John put a hand to his chest and tried to salvage his composure, fighting the dumbass smile threatening to split his face in two.

He managed to wrench his gaze away to order the pizza, and by the time he’d paid the delivery guy, Alex was sitting up on the bed.

He looked disheveled—hair a mess, a sleepy smile, rubbing his eyes. “Food?” he asked.

“Food,” John agreed. He set the pizza on the bed and climbed under the covers.

Alex made a disgruntled noise and John tackled him in a hug and started placing kisses on his collarbone, but after a few seconds, he started laughing. John kissed him one more time before Alex shoved him away and sat up with a pointed, “Lunch, Laurens.”

John pouted for a moment before Alex opened the pizza box and John decided that, just maybe, food was essential.

The rest of the day passed like that: soft, quiet, lazy. John found it comforting—the trip so far had been incredibly busy. They hadn’t had a moment to rest; they had museums and cities and castles to explore. Being able to just stay in and spend the day together was so… domestic.

The thought hit him like a train. He froze. Alex, who was curled up against him, drew a finger along his neck, feather-light.

“What’s up?” Alex asked, and pressed a kiss to his throat.

“Um.” John glanced down at Alex, decided that there was no good way to say it. “We’re being so fucking domestic right now,” he said, and his tone was joking, but he could feel his heart pounding. He was almost regretting the whole honesty rule he’d put in place.

Alex just laughed and punched his arm lightly. “Well, it was your idea to stay in today.”

“You have to take the blame for the coupley shit,” John told him, and Alex just shrugged.

They settled into silence again, until Alex asked, “What time is it?”

John grabbed his phone from the nightstand and gave it to Alex. Alex grumbled.

“GWash says he talked to your dad,” Alex said, brows furrowing. “It’s nothing super important.”

John hummed. “Can I see?”

Alex hesitated for only a moment before handing the phone over. “You shouldn’t listen to him,” he murmured, and pressed a kiss to John’s jaw. “You have all the time in the world, we can finish the trip.”

John smiled half-heartedly and placed a kiss on Alex’s forehead. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

Alex kissed John again and nuzzled into his neck. “Are you gonna go home?” he asked, in a small voice.

John just shrugged and buried his face in Alex’s hair. John hated that he put so much weight on his dad’s opinions, but there he was. Still, he wasn’t in favor of cutting their trip short. “Not yet,” he said, after another moment. Alex hummed in approval and closed his eyes.

Shortly after, they turned off the laptop, got changed, and snuggled back into bed. Alex didn’t have any trouble falling asleep that night, with his face buried in John’s shirt and his arm wrapped around John’s waist. John smiled. He figured Alex had had enough of rushing and working late. Seeing him sleep so easily was almost a relief.

* * *

 

John woke up to the smell of mint and honey and the feeling of arms resting gently across his waist. He also woke up to the phone buzzing and the sun shining brightly through the open blinds and an elbow in his ribs. He was struck by the realization that _holy shit he got to wake up to this from now on._

He took a deep breath and gently wormed his way out of Alex’s grasp, untangled himself from the blankets, and grabbed the phone.

It was ringing with multiple calls from Henry Laurens.

John tensed for a moment, eyes flicking to Alex. He shook his head and glanced down at the phone, then picked it up slowly. He didn’t want to take it, but he had to. It didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

John made his way to the bathroom before accepting the call. He moved gingerly, like he’d break if he moved too quickly. He didn’t know what his dad wanted, but he could be sure that it wouldn’t be good.

“Hey, Henry,” John said, already dreading the response.

“Jack,” Henry Laurens said, voice tight. “Are you still on that… _trip?”_

“Yeah,” John said, slightly exasperated. “I’m still on the road. We’re in Pennsylvania.”

“Are you with that Hamilton boy?” Henry asked, voice sharp.

John grimaced, glanced at the door. “Yes, I’m still with him.” He wanted to laugh—his father didn’t know the true extent to which he was _with_ Alex. But it wasn’t really that funny, and it was sad that it was something he had to laugh about to cope with.

“I don’t like that he convinced you to do this,” Henry muttered.

“No, Henry, _I’m_ the one who suggested the road trip. This is entirely my fault—”

“You do know his background, right?” Henry interrupted. “He’s an immigrant—”

“Just leave him out of it, okay?” John snapped, frowning. He _hadn’t_ known that, but his father wasn’t the person he wanted to hear it from. John closed his eyes and took a steadying breath.

“Just don’t let him coerce you into—”

“No, I’m not going to. Henry, I still—” John tried to cut him off, but Henry kept talking.

“And don’t let him convince you to stay on the road,” he said, stiffly. “You need to come home, Jack. Your siblings need you. So recently, your brother—”

John sighed and shook his head. “I know.” He didn’t think his father had it in him to bring his brother up, but he’d been wrong.

“You can’t leave them alone in this,” Henry continued, heedless. “They need a stable family to be able to cope—”

“I know. I—” John broke off abruptly and curled his free hand into a fist. He took another deep breath.

“The death of a sibling takes tolls on children, Jack,” Henry said. “You need to come home soon.”

There was a beat of silence. “I still need some time,” John said, but his voice was flat, empty. He ended the call without conviction.

When he looked up, Alex was standing in the doorway. His eyes were full of sympathy, and he offered John a hand.

John gave him a blank look, pressed the phone into his hand, and brushed past him, out into the room.

“You okay?” Alex asked at length, once John started pacing the room, feeling restless and a little bit dangerous. Alex crossed his arms over his chest.

John just shook his head and muttered, “’M fine.” His father’s words kept running on repeat in his head.

“No you’re not,” Alex said, matter-of-factly. “Don’t be stupid. These past two days have been all about trust, right?”

John stopped pacing for a moment to give Alex another blank look. “This is different.”

“I don’t see why,” Alex said.

“Because it’s family,” John said dryly. “Because you might know a couple things about me but you sure as hell don’t know everything, and I trust you, but that doesn’t mean that I’m going to tell you _everything.”_ He half-regretted the words the moment they were out of his mouth, but he still felt like he was in a haze. All he could think was that he needed to get _out._

Alex held up his hands. “Sorry. I’ll just… plan shit. You do you. Take a walk or something.”

John bit his lip and nodded. He felt like he should apologize or something, but after a moment he just turned and left the room.

He was still in a haze as he wandered down the hall, through the lobby, and out onto the sidewalk. The fresh air helped clear his mind a bit, but he couldn’t shake his father’s jibes.

To bring up James like that… John knew his father was cruel. He _knew_ it. Martha knew it, too, and it was something they commiserated over often. But John had somehow, after everything that had happened, still managed to underestimate him.

He kicked at a pebble, watched it skitter into the road.

His brother, James, had died a few months prior. It wasn’t a sudden thing—leukemia had consumed his life for years before he went. John hated that he knew no one had been surprised, he hated that there had been nothing he could do. He didn’t blame himself, but he and Martha felt the loss more than anyone.

Their younger siblings had had questions, ones Henry was too distant to answer. The two eldest had taken it upon themselves to be caregivers, and that extended to explaining terminal illnesses, but that hadn’t made it any easier to talk about.

For Henry to place blame on him like that, _knowing_ everything John had done for them… John knew that it was hypocritical. He really did. He was aware that his father was spouting bullshit and trying to make him feel like he was worthless without him. The really, _really_ frustrating thing was that it was working.

John kicked another pebble and broke into a run.

He got breakfast for Alex from a little café he happened by and ignored the pang in his stomach as he neglected to order for himself. By the time he got back to the hotel, he felt tired enough to stop thinking about his father and good enough that he was pretty sure he could manage a conversation with Alex.

The door creaked as it opened, and Alex’s gaze snapped over to him immediately. John kicked the door closed behind himself and set the bag he was holding down next to Alex. He sat on the unused bed and gestured vaguely towards the bag.

“Breakfast.”

Alex nodded and peered inside. “Thanks.” He held his notebook out to John, who took it and glanced at it. It looked like he’d made plans for the day. “I panicked and accidentally organized something.”

John looked up with a half-smile and a raised eyebrow, and Alex returned the smile nervously. “You’re adorable,” John told him, because it was the best thing going through his head at the moment, and handed the plans back. “This sounds fun. We should get going.”

Alex bit his lip and asked, “Is it okay if I ask about your dad?” John narrowed his eyes, because no, he was _not_ talking about it, and Alex added quickly, “Not like that. I just… wanted to know if you’d made a decision.”

John glanced down. _Oh._ He hesitated, his shoulders drawn up. He wasn’t actually sure. His dad wasn’t technically wrong, but John couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Alex behind. John made his decision and said quietly, “I already told him, I’m not going back. Not yet. We’re gonna finish this trip, okay?” He looked up and met Alex’s eyes.

Alex smiled and nodded, and even though the smile seemed a little off, John felt just a bit better. “Yeah, of course.”

John pursed his lips and shook his head. “I need you to… I need to tell you…” He had to say this, because he didn’t want Alex to dwell on his problems. _Alex would argue with you about that._ John ignored the tiny voice in his head and continued, more fiercely, “I’m not leaving. I’m not gonna just… abandon you. Especially after everything that’s happened… Alex, this is so stupid but you’re so important to me? You’re so… _real,_ and after everything that’s happened, I need something—some _o_ _ne_ like you…” He sighed, nodded to himself. “I need you, so I’m not going to just… up and leave. We’re in this together, remember?”

Alex nodded, gave him another small, odd smile. “Right. Together.” John sighed in relief as Alex stood, stretched, and gave him a small kiss. “I’m gonna get dressed.”

John took his hand, squeezed it, and closed his eyes contentedly. “Okay. Let’s go see some caves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two things:  
> 1\. My beta wanted John’s “Holy shit” after he wakes up next to Alex to be “Holy cow!” or “Holy Guacomole!” because she's pure like that.  
> 2\. (I'll just... copy and paste this from my notes.) Holy crap there’s a mayfly in the house i lost track of it KILL ME bugs that big and gangly can go die in a hole pls and thx  
> IT ALMOST LANDED ON ME AND I FELL OUT OF THE FUCKING CHAIR AND IT WAS A KITCHEN BARSTOOL K I L L M E N O W  
> because my brain is weird i was thinking abt putting this in the author’s notes but then i was thinking abt how??? what if some ppl have never seen a mayfly before?? so i was gonna google pictures of mayflies to like,, understand their experience or something idrk and my cursor was hovering over the new tab button and i was like,, u kno, im trapped in a house with a mayfly and i am terrified of it,, like i have a little tiny heart attack every time it comes near me,,, and google rly likes close-ups and terrifying images of bugs,,, and i literally said out loud, “you sure you wanna do that?” and did not open a new tab and that is the story of how i narrowly avoided death  
> (And here we witness the adventure that being an insomniac writer truly is. All that occurred at like 3 AM.)  
> Anyways, thanks for reading!


	10. “This is the prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen you.” “Did you—actually just say that to me?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys see a cave, they're both a little volatile, and Alex is scared.

It was a four hour drive to the cave, which wasn’t even in Pennsylvania. It was either go to Ohio, or pay $20 for a shitty tour of a tourist cave two hours in the opposite direction. Alex had made the executive decision.

John drove, so Alex spent the trip reading _Sea of Monsters._ He didn’t actually do much reading, but the book was a good way to get John to leave him alone. What he really wanted was to think. Over the past day or two, he hadn’t had time to, and it was making him antsy.

For one thing, he couldn’t believe he’d confessed. He wasn’t even sure “confessed” was the right word, because until that point, he hadn’t really thought of himself as _in love._ It had just been a dumb crush; a fleeting thing that made this whole trip _that much_ more difficult. In all honesty, Alex still wasn’t sure what to label it. Still, it wasn’t exactly something he could take back, so to John—and, to an extent, himself—he was in love.

It was strange, too, that he was conflicted on the topic of John, in general. Alex may have been in love, and, honestly, he was still reeling from that fact that John could feel the same and still want him there. It was great, but Alex wasn’t stupid. He knew that John had obligations and family and so much damn baggage that at some point, they’d both realize that this wasn’t going to work. God, did Alex want it to, but they were both so damaged that he didn’t know how long it would last.

And that _hurt._

He didn’t say anything to John, of course—he could think about it all he wanted, but that was _not_ a conversation he wanted to have right then. He just sat, and pretended to read, and began counting down the days before he managed to drive John away.

After an hour or so, John pulled aside and stopped the car. Alex watched him curiously—they were on the side of the highway in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but forests.

John got out of the car and stretched languidly. Alex waited for a moment before standing slowly and making his way over to John’s side of the car. John gave him a smile.

“Out of curiosity, is there a reason we stopped?” Alex asked, leaning against the hood of the car.

John shrugged. “Other than the fact that it’s a nice day out? Not really.”

Alex hummed and leaned over to kiss him. John pushed him back a little, crowding him against the car. His hands tangled in Alex’s hair, pulling it out of its ponytail to hang loose around his shoulders.

Alex couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, resting his hands on John’s hips and pulling him closer. His lips were warm and he tasted like green apples and raspberries and a little bit of cinnamon. Alex could almost forget the earlier anxiety when John was kissing him like that; like he was coming home.

John pulled away with a soft sigh, pecked Alex on the lips once more, and whispered, “We should get going.”

Alex stuck his tongue out and murmured, “You’ll have to move for us to do that.”

John laughed when Alex tightened his grip on John’s hips. “You’ll have to let go for me to do that,” John parroted, and Alex rolled his eyes. He pushed John away gently.

“Let’s go.”

When John smiled, Alex could convince himself to let his doubts go, if only for the day.

 

* * *

 

Alex made John play _Heathers_ again, and they were in the middle of trying to reenact _I Am Damaged_ when they pulled into the cave’s parking lot.

“My only question,” Alex said as he stepped out of the car, “is why you keep switching roles. I mean, I was slushie guy last time.”

“Same reason you were slushie guy last time,” John said dismissively. “I know the words, and I can hit the notes.”

Alex rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, and followed him to the head of the trail. There were three paths they could take, and they chose the rightmost one. It was the shortest, according to the map, and Alex did _not_ do physical activity. In his defense, he had a lot of work to do, most of the year.

John just offered him his hand and started down the path.

Alex took a few photos, because John looked absolutely divine under the dappled sunlight and surrounded by nature, and he wanted to capture it forever. His dumbass brain cast a bittersweet light on it, reminding him that he’d want them when he was gone.

He just squeezed John’s hand a little tighter, and ignored the odd look shot in his direction.

They reached the cave around lunch, and Alex resigned himself to a couple of granola bars they’d grabbed from a gas station. John nibbled on his while Alex looked around and proclaimed, “This is the prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen you.”

John, surprised, suddenly began choking on his granola bar. He grabbed Alex’s shoulder for support. “Did you—actually just say that to me?”

“We’re gonna be the cheesiest couple ever, if I have any say in it,” Alex told him, with a smile.

John sat back and punched his shoulder gently. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Alex smiled again and took a bite of his granola bar.

They wandered through the cave for a while. It was a massive structure with waterfalls and streams running through it, and wildlife all around. Alex didn’t think he’d ever seen more trees in one place.

It made for an extremely photogenic area, and John being there made it even better. He subtly snapped a few photos before John stole the phone and began chasing him around, trying to get a shot.

John stopped him in front of a waterfall and pulled him into a kiss, and Alex didn’t even notice anything off until John pulled back and checked the phone. Alex peered at the screen to see that John had snapped a picture, and he had to admit that… it was a nice photo. He still shot John a grumpy look, but John just laughed and took a picture of him.

They eventually got back on the path, and Alex watched the trees as they walked.

“I can’t look at trees without thinking of dryads now,” he said, craning his neck up to gaze at the canopy of leaves.

John chuckled. “I take it you’re liking the books?”

Alex shot him a look. “Still debating if it was worth a hundred and twenty dollars, but sure.”

John laughed again and Alex let himself smile, albeit begrudgingly.

They got back to the car and John tossed Alex the keys. “You wanna drive?”

Alex shrugged and ducked into the driver’s seat. “Where are we going?”

“That’s a great question,” John said, and Alex watched him pull up a map before getting back on the highway. “We’ve got options: a museum featuring a shitload of nineteenth century stuff, a tiny little historical society, and a… collection of illustrations by children’s book authors.”

Alex glanced at him briefly. “That’s… actually really difficult. Why does Ohio have so many obscure, unique museums?”

John shrugged.

“No, but those are actually so cute,” Alex said, and glanced at him again. “Which one are you thinking?”

“Honestly, I’m down for the children’s book museum,” John said off-handedly. “It’s connected to a children’s museum, but come _on.”_

Alex glanced at him and smiled slowly. “You nerd.” John shot him a glare, but Alex just shook his head fondly and had to fight the urge to pull the car over and kiss him right there. _You’re definitely in love,_ his brain told him. “Okay. Children’s books it is.”

John gave him a few directions and they drove in relative silence for a while. Alex tried to keep his mind on the road, but the longer he stayed idle, the more time his brain had to wander back to his worries from earlier. He didn’t want to end up tearing John down like that, because that would completely defeat the point of the road trip. He didn’t want John to come out of this worse than when he came in, which would inevitably happen, because Alex knew he had a tendency to be brash and venomous when he _really_ cared about something.

“Alex,” John said, with a tone that suggested he’d been repeating himself for a while.

Alex glanced over, jolted out of whatever daze had come over him. “Sorry, yeah?”

John raised an eyebrow. “Take the next exit.” He waited for Alex to switch lanes before asking, “Something on your mind?”

Alex sucked in a breath. _Communication, right?_ “If I ask you this, you have to promise not to get mad, okay?”

John raised an eyebrow. “I’ll… do my best. Depends on what it is.”

Alex nodded, because that was probably the best he was gonna get. “Okay. Um.” He paused again, made a turn, afforded John a glance. “We should… have an end date in sight.”

“An… end date?” John repeated, sounding perplexed. “Like, to the trip?”

“Yeah,” Alex agreed, and rushed on, “and it’s not because of work or whatever. It’s because… Oh, fuck. Um. I have this thing where I tend to screw things up. If it’s something I really care about, or something that’s really good, I make it bad. And I don’t want to end up… making you worse than when this whole thing started.” Alex could feel the apprehension rolling off John in waves, but he wanted to say his piece before he let John interject.

“You’re not allowed to tell me I don’t do that,” Alex told him bluntly. “Because you don’t know anything about my past or my life outside of the past couple years, and I’m not keen on talking about it. So just trust me on this.” He cast John another glance. He wasn’t looking at Alex. He was staring out the window with a stony look in his eyes and a set jaw.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” continued Alex, a little more nervously. He didn’t like the way John looked like he wanted to break something. He didn’t like the way he looked _dangerous._ Alex wondered, for the first time, if John would end up hurting _him._ He dismissed the thought as soon as it surfaced. “So we should make a plan so this whole thing… _ends._ Before that can happen.”

Once he was done, he let the tense silence cloak them like a shroud and turned his attention fully to the drive. The moment stretched on for minutes that felt like hours, felt like days. Alex didn’t let his gaze flicker over to John, no matter how intense the urge became.

Finally, John said hoarsely, “You’re not just talking about the trip.”

Alex made a small, sad noise.

“You couldn’t give it one _fucking_ day,” John whispered harshly.

Alex blinked rapidly. “Sorry.” He was not going to cry; that would be admitting defeat.

“We worked this out yesterday,” John continued, shaking his head. “You told me you _loved_ me, and now you’re, what, planning our break up?”

Alex winced. “No, I…”

“Oh, really?” John asked, laughing wryly. “Tell me, then, what _are_ you doing? Because that’s what it sounds like.”

“I’m…” Alex sighed, shaking his head. “I’m trying to protect—”

“Who, me?” John snapped. Alex made a small noise of affirmation. “No, Alex, sorry. I don’t need you to try to do that. I’m not a _child,_ I can handle your shit. I can handle my own shit! I don’t need someone to… to coddle me!”

“I’m _not—”_

“Don’t fucking _say_ that!” John shouted, and Alex jumped. The car swerved. “You say you’re trying to protect me? How _chivalrous.”_

“I’m not trying to be chivalrous,” Alex spat, and oh, _God,_ this is what he’d been dreading. They were both so _volatile._ “I’m trying to stop the both of us from getting hurt!”

“Too late,” John muttered.

There was a long pause, because Alex didn’t have anything to say to that, and he was pretty sure that “You promised not to get mad” would just anger John further.

“Listen, Alex,” John said, after another minute. His voice had shifted—it was soft, almost apologetic, but Alex didn’t look at him. “I just… I want you to know that… you’re the only reason I’m still here? I think.” He paused again, for so long that Alex thought he was done. Then, “I don’t think I was thinking past _getting away_ when I met you. I wasn’t… I’m _not_ in a good place, you know? And I don’t know… I don’t know how far I would’ve gone to… to _get away.”_

And John sounded so vulnerable and sincere and _broken_ that Alex had to pull over and embrace him over the seats. He felt his brain whirl. He’d said all that shit, how could he, when John was like this, when John _needed him—_ He buried his face in John’s shoulder, whispering over and over, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

John placed his hands softly on Alex’s arms and pulled back. “I’m not… I’m not trying to guilt trip you. Please don’t apologize. I just… Please don’t leave, either?”

Alex bit his lip and nodded, and even though he knew that wasn’t the end of it, he _knew_ that his mind would come up with more, he couldn’t bring himself to argue anymore. Not after everything John had trusted him with. Not after he’d trusted him with his life.

 _Shine A Light_ played ironically in the background. Alex sat back in his seat, leaned his head against the headrest, and just shook his head, trying not to laugh. Not because anything about this was particularly _humorous._ Just because they were codependent dumbasses who made stupid decisions and hadn’t even known each other for a week. Because he was _in love_ with the dumbass he’d known for less than a week. Because they trusted each other with their lives, and refused to see every single way that could go wrong.

 

* * *

 

Alex pulled into the parking lot of the museum and John tossed him his phone before getting out. Alex pocketed it and joined John outside, gazing up at the museum.

It was a brick building that Alex might’ve mistaken for a school if not for the sculptures and signs littered around the lawn. There were flower beds scattered throughout and ringing a small gazebo-esque structure. Alex and John traded surprised glances. Whatever they’d been expecting, it hadn’t been this.

The inside was just as quaint, with low ceilings and warm light from the windows. Past the front desk, Alex could see something that looked like a library. Whatever wallspace wasn’t covered by bookshelves was cluttered with picture frames—illustrations, presumably.

They paid for tickets and Alex took John’s hand gently as they began to walk. He meant it as a sort of apology—he still couldn’t shake what John had said earlier. He also couldn’t shake the feeling of doom that had planted itself in the back of his mind, but he was more concerned with John at the moment.

Alex was barely paying attention as John pointed out different drawings. Even though the past couple days had been relatively busy, he figured that this trip had given him far too much time to think about himself, because he’d worked some things out about himself that he’d never even thought of before. He didn’t like that he had so much time. He didn’t like that he was left alone with his thoughts.

It was unsettling.

He managed to wrench himself out of his head as John pointed out another picture. _Don’t fuck this up again,_ his brain said. He needed a distraction, and he supposed John was perfect.

“You’re thinking again,” John said, squeezing his hand.

“Shocking,” Alex mumbled. “Sorry. I just… It’s a little hard to shut it off, y’know?”

“Yeah. But if you ever end up being a shithead, talk it out with me, okay?” John gave him a searching look and Alex managed a smile.

“’Course.”

“Oh, by the way,” John continued as they rounded a corner, to be met with even more picture frames. “I wanted to apologize for earlier. For all the shit I said. I didn’t… well, I guess I meant it, at the time—” Alex snorted “—but I just… I wanted you to know that it just… I’ve spent a long time looking after myself, and to have someone _really_ care for me…” He shook his head. “It’s foreign. It’s scary, because I don’t know when it’s just… going to vanish.”

Alex studied him for a moment, wondering how the two of them had ended up so similar. He wondered how they both managed to land there, together, despite everything that had tried to stop them. He wondered what had made John so afraid. “It’s okay,” he said, and let it be.

They spent a while longer in the museum before getting back in the car.

“Can I drive?” Alex asked, just before John keyed the ignition.

John glanced over at him with a peculiar expression, but instead of asking he just shrugged. “Sure, whatever. Means I get to pick the hotel again.”

Alex nodded quickly and they switched seats. He felt suddenly trapped, fidgeting uncomfortably with the seatbelt, wanting to just be able to run or scream or _escape._ He needed to be _preoccupied._

So he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot and pretended like he wasn’t itching to do something stupid, like get into a shouting match or jump from something tall, just to see if he could fly.

 

* * *

 

It was night, and Alex was curled around John, listening to him breathe softly. He couldn’t sleep, not like he normally couldn’t. Not like he had something to do, like sleep wasn’t his priority; rather, like sleep was the only thing he wanted, but he couldn’t quite reach it. And he still felt like jumping. He still wanted a _rush._

It was absurd. He hated heights, he hated chaos, he hated falling. But it was all he wanted to feel. Falling was all he wanted to do.

He wormed his way out from John’s arms, padded across the room, and slipped out into the cool summer night. He just stood for a minute in the hotel’s parking lot, letting the breeze catch him and toy with him, trying to let himself go. Then he started running.

He didn’t have a destination. He just liked the way his heart raced and his breath was short and the breeze turned to a wind on his skin. He just liked the way he could lose himself in the feeling of _one foot after another, one more breath, one more step, one more one more one more anything—_

He stumbled to a halt, hands on his knees and breathing heavily. He could feel his heart pounding throughout his entire body, could feel it like a jackhammer in his feet, could feel it pulsing in his head, could feel it bursting in his chest. He could feel himself calming.

When he finally regained control of his breathing, Alex paused to take in his surroundings. He was standing on the side of a deserted city street. He was alone.

Slowly, he turned and began walking back towards the hotel. He was pretty sure he remembered the way back, so he just let his feet guide him. His mind was too tired to wander. He was too tired to focus on anything but staying upright. He was suddenly struck with why he kept to his lifestyle—work himself into the ground, catch an hour of sleep, and get back to work with coffee and no energy left over for trivial things like _feelings._

God, he hated feelings. He couldn’t stand the damn things. They were overrated and confusing, and— _Damn,_ he thought as he entered the hotel room to see John, fast asleep and tinted silver by moonlight. He had so many of them. He rubbed at his temples, heaved a sigh.

“You okay?” came John’s sleep-addled murmur.

Alex gave him a reassuring smile and nodded. “Doing better. Go back to sleep, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“You better be,” John told him, grumpily. “It’s colder without you. And sleep is important. We agreed on this, didn’t we?”

Alex opened his mouth to reply, but settled for just shaking his head and giving John another smile. He wouldn’t be sleeping tonight, if he could help it.

He took a quick shower and slipped into bed beside John, suppressing another stupid smile as John immediately wrapped him in a hug. Alex sighed and rested his chin on John’s curls. It was going to be a long night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Quick note: I'm on vacation for the next couple weeks, so the next chapter will be a bit later than usual. Thanks for reading!


	11. “I’ve had enough of secrets, you know? I just don’t want us to end up hurting each other.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has some serious inner moral debates, the boys visit the optimal roadtrip destination, and neither of them have any idea what they're doing.

 

They were on the road again, and John was driving. He hummed along to the music that Alex put on, took directions to some off-beat, tacky attraction in West Virginia, and pretended to be extremely interested in the Kentucky license plate on the car in front of him. He didn’t even know where they were going, except that Alex thought it would be fun, and he hadn’t had the heart to argue.

John was still stuck on what they’d both said yesterday. Partly on how he possibly could’ve just thrown all that baggage on Alex’s shoulders, but mostly on everything Alex had said. He couldn’t just _dismiss_ it, because Alex was right. He was right, and John hated it.

John didn’t need Alex protecting him from himself, that part was stupid. But Alex was absolutely right about the fact that John had _no idea_ what his background was. So far, all he knew about were Alex’s college years and the fact that he’d immigrated. That was it.

He’d be lying if he said it didn’t bother him a little.

Thing was, Alex didn’t know that much about _him,_ either, which begged the question: who would crack first? And, really, could they _have_ a functional relationship with so little knowledge of each other? How well did they really know each other?

John wished his brain would shut up.

He could feel Alex’s gaze burning into him, so he glanced over. Alex’s head whipped towards his window so fast that John was concerned about his neck.

“You good?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Alex mumbled. John wished he could tell what Alex was thinking. It would make things so much easier.

“You sure?”

 _“Yes,”_ Alex said sharply, and leaned his head against the window.

John’s eyes lingered for a second before he looked back at the road. He’d rather they didn’t die on some backwater Ohio roadway.

After a minute of silence, John said, “So, where is it we’re headed to again?”

Alex mumbled something that sounded like “misery hole”. John slowed the car and cast another glance at him.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Alex let out a sigh and said, more clearly, “Mystery Hole.”

John smiled and poked his arm. Alex turned to glare at him. “One,” John said, “you’re being super childish, and it’s both endearing and obnoxious.” Alex scrunched up his nose, and John had to force his eyes back to the road. “Two, is that one of those ridiculous ‘gravity defying’ things? Where they like, nail chairs to the ceiling and shit?”

Alex fought a grin and John burst out laughing.

“For real?”

“Yeah,” Alex admitted.

“That’s it, that is the pinnacle of this trip,” John announced. “That’s like, the ultimate road trip destination.”

Alex smiled, genuinely, and nodded. “Honestly? Yeah. Museum of Cryptozoology was a close second, though.”

John shrugged and looked back at the road. His brain could fuck off. They were good, and they were going to stay that way.

* * *

 

John pulled up beside a cottage whose back wall extended into a tunnel, with badly painted metal siding and an antique black Volkswagen sticking half-out of it. John stared, eyebrows raised. Alex grinned and elbowed him.

“It’s gonna be great.”

“I’m _sure,”_ John agreed sarcastically.

The old woman behind the desk seemed a tad bit too delighted to see them. John had to wonder how many customers she actually got.

“So you’re here for the Mystery Hole?” she asked, adopting a fortune-teller-esque inflection.

John and Alex traded a glance and Alex said, “Yep.”

“I see you’re skeptical,” she said, looking from Alex to John with a glint in her eye. John couldn’t believe he let Alex choose this. “You won’t be.”

Alex wiggled his eyebrows at him once her back was turned, and John gave him a wry smile. This was going to be disappointing.

“Why are you always the one who picks these kinds of places?” John hissed, as the woman ushered them through a back door. Alex had been responsible for the cryptozoology museum, too. John prided himself in having chosen only interesting and classy-looking tourist traps.

Alex just shrugged. “I choose _optimal_ road trip destinations.”

“Oh, of course.” John rolled his eyes, smiling.

The Mystery Hole was apparently “the best kept secret in West Virginia, where the laws of gravity seem to have gone berserk and your sense of balance is entirely upset,” according to Madison, the woman behind the counter. She led them down a blacked out hallway, stopping abruptly in front of a door with black light streaming through the cracks.

Madison looked back at them with a sly smirk and opened the door. John squinted into the light, grabbing Alex’s hand as they stepped through the threshold.

At first, it didn’t seem like anything was up, but as soon as Madison called a cheery, “Have fun, boys,” and closed the door, Alex grabbed John’s arm.

“You good?” John asked, glancing down at him.

Alex nodded, smiled apologetically, and tugged his arm. They started off through the room.

It was a wide hall lit entirely by black lights, with a low ceiling and no upholstery or decorations except a single bench pushed against one wall.

They reached the center and stood, and John waited for a moment before declaring, “I feel nothing,” just as Alex stumbled again and threw his arms around John’s shoulders.

On instinct, John’s hands flew to Alex’s waist, hoisting him up and pulling him closer. They ended up chest-to-chest, staring at each other as John tried to make out if it was just the black light or if Alex was actually blushing. If the way he buried his head in John’s shirt, laughing breathily, was any indication, it was probably the latter.

John leaned down and placed a feather-light kiss in Alex’s hair. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall,” he said, half-joking.

Alex snorted and pushed him away. John stumbled a few paces, laughing, but realized after a few more steps that he wasn’t regaining his balance. He let out an undignified squeak and threw his arms out behind him as he fell, landing on the wood floor.

Alex laughed full-on, eyes wide. “You’re kidding me.”

John flipped him off from his place on the floor. “Fuck off, I have no idea.”

“I picked the _one place_ where this shit actually works?” Alex shook his head in disbelief. “I’m amazing.”

“Dear God,” John muttered, “I can’t believe this.” He held out a hand. “Fine, then. Help me up.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Oh, no, no way.”

“No way what?”

“You still want vengeance,” Alex said, matter-of-fact.

“What? No!” Well, now that Alex mentioned it…

Alex glared at him for a second longer before reaching out and gingerly taking John’s hand. John steeled his grip on Alex and pulled. Alex squawked, tripping over the ground before collapsing half on top of John. He punched John halfheartedly in the shoulder while John positively _cackled._

“That’s exactly what I meant by _vengeance,”_ Alex complained, but he wasn’t moving from where he was draped across John’s lap.

“Mhmm,” John hummed, tone patronizing. He poked Alex’s forehead. “I know.”

Alex stuck his tongue out, but he sighed contentedly. “I’m just happy. This is nice.”

“I make a great pillow,” John assured him.

“I should get a John Laurens body pillow,” Alex mused.

John’s eyes widened. “What? No! That would be really fucking weird. I’m not sleeping in the same bed as a pillow with my face on it.”

Alex tensed for a second, and John could practically hear his thoughts racing. “You—” he coughed out a laugh. “Yeah, nevermind.”

John sighed softly and ran his hands through Alex’s hair, gently tugging at a loose knot. “I’m going to sound like an asshole,” he warned. Alex just made a dejected noise. “Okay, well, we talked about this. And I know that it doesn’t work like that and I can’t just… stop your train of thought, but I can reassure you again, that I’m not planning on going anywhere. And you’ve seen me at some pretty low points, so I can only assume that I can’t chase you away that easily.”

Alex snorted. “Only person who can chase me away is me.”

John flicked his arm. “And maybe that guy from school you hate… Jeffersomething?”

Alex drew in a sharp breath and exhaled with a growl. “Okay, yeah, maybe him.”

“See, two things that can chase you away.” John grinned. “We’re making a list of things Alexander Hamilton is afraid of and conquering them, one by one.”

“No, we’re not,” Alex said, shooting him a withering glare. He shifted off of John’s lap and sat back. He hopped to his feet, teetered in place for a second, then offered John a hand.

John grumbled, but took it and let himself be pulled up. “Okay, but seriously, what’s up with this place?”

Alex grinned at him. “Maybe it’s real.”

John smirked, shrugging. “Maybe. Maybe it’s the placebo effect.”

“Don’t ruin the moment.”

* * *

 

“So, what is the great Alexander Hamilton afraid of?” John asked, tapping his chin in mock-contemplation.

“Your face,” Alex muttered.

John raised an eyebrow. “Very mature. I assure you, there’s no coming back from that one.”

Alex scoffed. “That’s why I said it.”

“Right. So.” John poked him. Alex shot him an annoyed look. “Spiders? Heights? The inevitability of Earth’s collision with the sun?”

“I think that last one is more of a motivator,” Alex said. “Like, oh, the Earth’s gonna die? Fuck you, better do twice as much in my lifetime. I mean, at least that way people will remember me as we’re crashing into the sun. I’ll be one of those people they build a tribute to before the heat death of the entire species.”

“That was surprisingly inspirational,” John said, poking him again. “Also completely tangential to what we’re actually talking about.”

Alex frowned. “You realize you can’t just ask me what I’m afraid of, right? That’s way too broad. Like, I’m afraid of dying in a car crash, but since literally _everyone_ is afraid of that, it’s totally different than, say, my irrational fear of ropes courses.”

“Perfect, ropes courses and car crashes,” John said, mostly just to piss Alex off.

“I thought this was supposed to be a list of fears we were gonna conquer together. I’d rather _not_ conquer my fear of car crashes, thanks.” Alex shot him a sideways glance. “I’m also concerned about just how you’d go about curing me of that fear.”

John just shrugged, with what he hoped was a mysterious smile on his face.

“Y’know, this started out as a really touching concept, but now I’m thinking this is just to antagonize me.”

“Blast, I’ve been caught,” John said, with a fake accent.

Alex rolled his eyes and switched lanes. “Because I’m so incredibly nice, I’ll disregard that.”

John chuckled. He waved his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. But really, I’m curious.”

Alex bit his lip and tilted his head. He was quiet for a few seconds, then said very softly, “I’m afraid of storms. I used to really like them, you know? But then there was this… huge hurricane? And I guess that fucked things up for me.”

John nodded _._ “That’s shitty.”

“Yeah,” Alex agreed dully. There was another bout of silence and then he continued, “I’m afraid of being wrong. I’m afraid that someday I’m going to say something that digs me in too deep to get out.” Then, even softer, “I’m afraid that this is a hole I’ve dug us both into, and soon you’ll realize you want out.”

“If anything, I’ve done an equal share of the digging,” John said, only half-joking. “And I already said I wasn’t going anywhere.”

Alex just hummed, but didn’t really reply.

They sat for a few moments longer but Alex didn’t look like he was going to keep talking, so John put on BØRNS and leaned his head against the window. Trees and fields flew by, and he almost had to wonder how fast Alex was actually driving.

After another hour or so, as the sun was setting, they pulled into a gas station parking lot.

“Food?” Alex asked, ducking out of the car. “I’ll pay for gas, too.”

John just shrugged. Alex hadn’t said much over the past hour, and John wasn’t making any progress with _The Lost Hero;_ he was too often left alone with his mind. Too much thinking led to too many speculations, and that never ended well. Needless to say, he’d lost his appetite.

A few minutes later, Alex knocked on John’s window. John raised an eyebrow and lowered it.

“C’mon, let’s eat in the grass.”

John spotted the bag in his hands. “On the side of the freeway?”

“Yeah,” Alex said. “You were the one who wanted to sleep in the back of the car. This is at least as good.”

John deliberated for a second longer before relenting and following Alex to the grass just off the road. A car flew by as they were sitting down. John could feel it rattle in his feet, and he couldn’t suppress a soft laugh.

Alex grabbed his arm and pulled him down to lay in the grass. He linked their fingers and let out a long breath.

“You good?” John asked. It was probably a stupid question, but he asked anyway.

Alex turned to meet John’s eyes, then his gaze drifted down to their joined hands. “Yeah. I think so. For right now.” After another moment, he said, “Or, at least, I’m feeling better than before.”

“Okay,” John said. He turned his head to look at the sky. It was drifting on the line between sundown and true night, a little too dark to really be sunset. He liked this part of the evening. It was the quietest.

After a few minutes, Alex sat up again and there was the sound of paper crinkling before a gas station sandwich landed on John’s chest. John sat up slowly and looked at it, doubtful.

“C’mon, it’s dinner. And it’s free.” Alex took a bite of his own sandwich, as if to demonstrate a point.

“Not really,” John countered, “considering we’re pooling our money for this trip.”

“That’s beside the point,” Alex said, and elbowed him. “C’mon.” When John still hesitated, Alex seemed to sober a bit and asked, “You okay?”

“Yeah, I guess,” John muttered, reluctantly unwrapping his sandwich.

“Yeah, right,” Alex scoffed. “So, what’s on your mind?”

John took a bite of his dinner instead of replying, and instantly regretted it. There was no way he was going to be able to eat this. So he took his time chewing, and by the time he managed to swallow around the cotton in his throat, Alex had turned his attention to his own food. John continued to feign interest in the shitty sandwich until Alex balled up the paper wrapping and stuck it back in the plastic gas station bag.

Alex took a breath, glancing over at John. He raised an eyebrow when he caught sight of his uneaten food, but didn’t mention it. He looked back out at the highway as another car flew by.

“Are you ever gonna tell me?”

“No,” John said plainly. “It’s not important.”

“I call bullshit,” Alex said. “But I, unlike some, don’t force people to talk about shit they don’t want to. So I’ll let it slide. You wanna drive?”

John shot him a half-hearted glare as they got up. “I’m sorry for being obnoxious, but please, tell me where we would be right now if I wasn’t?”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Halfway across the country from each other, probably. Whatever.”

John smiled, ducking into the driver’s seat. He stuck the key in the ignition, then paused. “I am, you know. Sorry.” Alex didn’t reply. “I don’t mean to bring up anything you don’t wanna talk about, but… I just… I’ve had enough of secrets, you know? I just don’t want us to end up hurting each other.”

At that, Alex nodded and made a soft, detached noise of agreement. John started the car, and they were off again.

* * *

 

Alex was quiet for the rest of the ride to the motel, and if John was honest, it was just the slightest bit suspect. He didn’t know what was going on, but it had to be something. Alex was never this quiet for this long.

His suspicions were confirmed when, the moment he closed the door to their room, he was shoved against a wall. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Alex’s mouth on his, or Alex’s fingers working feverishly at the buttons on his shirt, it was just… off. Before Alex could press any closer, John pulled back as far as he could. That was to say, an inch.

Alex whined breathily from the back of his throat, and John’s breath caught. He almost gave in to Alex’s heavily lidded eyes, half-parted lips—but. “Alex.” Alex hummed, slid his hand up John’s neck. “No—Alex.” John put a gentle but firm hand on Alex’s shoulder, pushing him backwards.

“What?” Alex said, and maybe it was meant to be harsh, but it just sounded petulant.

“What’s wrong?” John asked. “And don’t say _nothing,_ because it’s never nothing, and being obnoxious is my specialty, remember?”

Alex sighed, and John let him rest his head on John’s shoulder. “I just… God, I don’t even know what to say.”

“Start with, did I do something?”

“No,” Alex said, earnestly. “No. It’s all me. I just can’t get out of my head… God, we’re a mess.”

“I know,” John agreed, “but we’re happy. And we’re doing good.”

“Are we, though?” Alex asked, sounding desperate.

“I am.”

“No, you don’t—” Alex made a frustrated noise, and his fingers curled a little tighter into John’s shirt. “I just…” He looked up, into John’s eyes, his own dark and honest and _terrified._ “John, what are we _doing?”_

And for once, John didn’t have an answer. He didn’t have a reassuring remark; no funny but meaningful anecdote came to mind. He could understand, in that moment, what made Alex want to run, want to do _this._

After another moment of floundering, _searching,_ John gave in, and kissed Alex.

He felt Alex sigh against his lips, and his hands shook as he buried them in Alex’s hair. Alex fumbled with his shirt buttons again, and John had half a mind to check if his hands were shaking, too, but then Alex was running his hands down his sides and he really didn’t have half a mind for anything, anymore.

Alex pressed him against the wall again, and after a few seconds, his movements became more self assured, his fingers teasing at the hem of John’s jeans, his breath hot against John’s mouth. John let out a sigh-whine-hybrid, and felt Alex grin.

After another moment, John grabbed Alex’s waist, flipped them, and picked Alex up, cradling his thighs. Alex let out a gasp that John followed like he needed it to breathe, kissing him harder and tightening his grip on Alex’s ass.

John turned in the general direction of their bed and walked until his knees hit the mattress, then set Alex down. Alex lay, sprawled out in front of him, all bruised lips and mussed hair and dark eyes—the _picture_ of debauchery. John climbed onto the bed after him, crawling until he straddled Alex’s hips, and looked down at him. He could almost form a rational thought of, _No, no, not like this, not now, not because of this,_ but then Alex ran his hands down John's sides,and John didn’t have any time for rational thought.

Later, when they were laying in one of the beds (receptionist had given them a _look_ when Alex almost asked for a single), and Alex was pressing lazy kisses along his collarbone, John could finally recollect his thoughts.

What _were_ they doing? The more he thought about it, the more disastrous this whole trip seemed. What were they _thinking?_ He had enough presence of mind to realize this made him a complete hypocrite and that he could never voice his concerns to Alex because he’d get verbally torn to shreds. He could see the argument forming, because he knew what the two of them looked like when they were scared. God, what he would do to keep that from happening.

Alex had moved on to his jawline.

“I have no idea,” John said softly, probably against his better judgement.

“Gonna need a bit of context,” Alex said, moving away to pillow his head on John’s chest.

“What we’re doing,” John clarified. “I’ve got no clue. But it’s kinda fun.”

Alex huffed out a laugh, his breath dancing along John’s skin. “Yeah. Don’t you think it could end really horribly, though? That sounded bad. I mean… I don’t know. I’m just scared, you know? That it’ll all fall apart.”

 _Yeah,_ John thought. “I know. We’ll work this out,” he said.

“’Course, Mr. Optimism,” Alex sniped, but his tone was a little bit lighter.

“Hey, we’ve got this whole communication thing going,” John said. “So at least that won’t get in the way.”

“I know,” Alex sighed. “But… I guess I’m being superstitious. Because… because we’ve been going whatever way the wind blows, or whatever, so… Murphy’s Law, right? I’m scared of things getting worse.”

“Yeah, but it’s not bad,” John reasoned. “Right now. That’s half the law. Things tend to go from bad to worse. But right now, what we’ve got going… it’s good.”

Alex nodded, looking contemplative. John turned his head to stare up at the ceiling. If he kept talking like that, he could almost convince himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <http://www.mysteryhole.com/>
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Get your smut off my good ace lawn.
> 
> ALSO, because you've stuck with so far, you get to hear me yell about my trip. Canada was fun and all and I saw some really well-done Shakespeare in the Park shows, but mostly, I got the chance to see both Hamilton and Great Comet!! Hamilton was amazing; since I saw a matinee I got the amazing opportunity to see Andrew Chappelle as Lafayette/Jefferson, which was the BEST experience. He is officially my favorite Jefferson. I also got to see Sydnee Winters as Angelica, which was equally amazing! Donald Webber was Hamilton, Anthony Lee Medina was Laurens/Philip (he was awesome), Lexi Lawson was Eliza, Javon McFerrin was Mulligan/Madison, and Gregory Treco was Burr (he was awesome as well).  
> At any rate, as much as I loved Hamilton, Great Comet was the highlight of the whole thing. It's a phenomenal show and the entire company is just amazing. I had a seat onstage, so that was amazing. My sister kept getting flirted at by the cast. Dust and Ashes was chilling and the design was astonishing. I've got to say that Comet is probably the best show on Broadway. I'm so sad that it's closing. I'm so lucky to have seen it when I did! If you have the opportunity, I highly recommend it. There's no other experience quite like it.  
> I had to dump that somewhere, so. There you go. Thanks for reading!


	12. "Yours forever, John Laurens."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex comes to a realization, John is pushy, and both of them make some Decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at the end of last night’s party  
> very end of last night’s party  
> did you see rich  
> no that’s when miss maria reynolds walked into my life, she said  
> ‘I NEED MOUNTAIN DEW RED’

It took another phone call from Henry Laurens for Alex to realize that this wouldn’t work out. That this _couldn’t_ work out. The idea had been forming in his mind for the past three days, but after watching John endure another heart-wrenching argument, he was sure of it.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want it to work out—he loved John, and it hurt like a bitch to admit it—it was just that, logically, it couldn’t.

They were so unconventional, it would be near impossible to make anything work outside of the little haven that was their trip. The fact that their relationship had formed out of high tension and both of them running from their respective demons wasn’t exactly a bonus, either. Alex didn’t have to be a psychologist to understand that John needed to reconcile with his father, and that he wasn’t going to as long Alex was there, dragging out the trip.

Alex knew he had to say something, but the last time he tried that, they got into a shouting match. There was another problem—they both had short tempers, and they were both terrified.

Despite all the thoughts that had blown through his head over the course of the call, when John put the phone down on the bed and looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes, Alex found himself at a loss for words. There was nothing he could do to fix this, nothing he could do to safely tell John what he needed to hear.

John just shook his head slightly and rubbed at his temples, slumping into Alex’s lap.

“God, I’m so sorry,” he groaned dejectedly.

Alex mustered a smile that he hoped didn’t look as pathetic as it felt, and said, “Not your fault.”

“It kind of is, though,” John insisted, and Alex didn’t reply because he knew neither of them really felt like talking, and Alex didn’t feel like telling if John wasn’t going to listen.

By silent mutual agreement, they decided to stay inside that day. When Alex’s legs began to go numb, he nudged John until they shifted back under the blankets, and John turned his back to Alex.

Alex stared at his hair for a moment, then twisted, grabbed their books from the nightstand, and gently set _The Lost Hero_ on John’s side.

There was a moment of silence, and then an almost imperceptible laugh came from John, and he took the book.

Alex still couldn’t help but worry. After a good five minutes of uselessly reading the same line over and over again, he grabbed his laptop and opened a Word document. Organizing his thoughts with solid, tangible words always helped. Often, they also brought an extra wave of that feeling of doom he got in his gut, but at least he could clearly visualize exactly what he was thinking.

He cast a glance at the lump lying next to him, and typed _John Laurens._ And then he poured his heart out. Everything that he’d been feeling, everything that he’d kept inside his head, everything he didn’t want to think about, laid out on the page. He ended up with three pages of _feelings._

After another fifteen minutes of categorizing them, he read through them again and let out a long sigh.

John made a quiet, interested noise, and Alex looked over to see that he’d rolled over and was watching Alex write. Alex leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

John raised an eyebrow.

“Right now,” Alex amended.

“The way you were typing…” John trailed off, mumbling. Alex gave him a look. “It seemed pretty urgent,” he said, more clearly.

“We’re having a bad day already,” Alex said. “Let’s worry about it later, okay?”

John’s mouth twisted into a confused frown and Alex just shook his head. He wasn’t going to burden John with both Henry and his stupid feelings in one day. Ironic, because he’d done that so many times already, but today was going to be different—if only because he was all too familiar with the concept of the calm before the storm.

“Later,” Alex promised, and with one last concerned squint, John nodded and rolled back over, opening his book.

Alex looked back at the screen, read over his thoughts once, twice, and began his letter.

It was a tradition of his—when he needed to say something of utmost importance, he wrote a letter. Though both still made formidable weapons, he’d always been more fluent with the pen than with his tongue, and he had learned not to trust his mouth with matters of the heart. Especially after he’d utterly blundered his confession to John.

 _My Dearest Laurens,_ it opened, because he was stupid and young and in love and didn’t realize that it would be so much more heartbreaking that way. It ended up reading like a hybrid of a psych essay and a love letter, even after Alex went through it five times. He bit back a frustrated sigh and read through it one last time. He didn’t think he had the will to delete it all and start over, so he just saved it as it was and closed the laptop.

He glanced over at John and was met with his mass of curls, still turned away reading.

“How’s the book?” he murmured as he propped his chin on John’s shoulder.

John glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “Fine. How’s your writing?”

Alex sighed and flopped onto the bed. “Fine. I’m still not happy with it.”

“Maybe I could read it over for you,” John offered, which was a poorly disguised espionage attempt, even for him.

“I think not,” Alex quipped, hands grasping the laptop a little tighter. “Not right now.”

“Alex, it’s been like, two hours,” John said, holding his book up as proof. He was on the last few pages.

 _“Not right now,”_ Alex repeated, sharply this time.

John drew back, as if burned. “Okay.”

 _God dammit,_ Alex thought, and mentally berated himself for snapping. _Volatile,_ his brain reminded him, and he pressed himself deeper into the pillows. He grabbed _Sea of Monsters_ and opened it to a random page, pulling a little too hard and probably ruining the spine. He couldn’t focus on that, though, instead throwing himself into the story with as much force as possible.

He hated that he had no way to escape this, no way to be alone. A run like a couple nights ago was out of the cards, because John would inevitably ask questions. Sex didn’t seem likely, either, because he didn’t think he could bring himself to look John in the eye at the moment. The books weren’t working, and he didn’t want to write anything. _God, this blows._

He sighed inwardly and pressed his book against his forehead. His life would be so much simpler if this had never happened. Granted, he also would never have met John, which might’ve been the greatest travesty of his life, but this was a _mess._

God, what he would give for them to just be normal.

* * *

 

The clock read 11:34 PM when John asked, “So, your writing?”

 _“Jesus,_ John,” Alex groaned into John’s back, rolling over from where he’d been the big spoon.

“It’s later,” John said mulishly.

“It’s _late,”_ Alex muttered. “It’s… it’s so fucking tiring and emotionally fraught. The letter. Can we not, right now?”

“We’ve been _notting_ all day,” John shot back, rolling over to poke at his shoulder. A pause, then, “It’s a letter?”

Alex breathed out a curse. “Yeah.”

“Who’s it to?”

“Myself? The universe? You? Your dad?” Alex wasn’t even sure. All of those were right, really. Even though it was addressed to John, it was directed at so much more.

“Yeah, you’re right, that sounds emotional,” John agreed. “I still want to read it.”

“Fine,” Alex snapped, because he didn’t have the energy to deal with this. He didn’t have the energy to keep obfuscating, to keep deflecting. He just wanted it all to be over with. “Read it.” He dropped the laptop on John, stood up, pulled on his shoes, and left the room.

The second the door closed behind him, Alex fell against the wall and put his face in his hands. He should go back in. He should make sure that he can talk things out with John, make sure he doesn’t feel alone. He should be rational, he shouldn’t let his emotions take over something so important.

He pushed off the wall and walked down the hallway, fear roiling in his stomach.

He passed the receptionist in a rush, and she shot him an odd look that he didn’t catch. Out through the doors, through the parking lot, down the street, into whatever town they were in today. By the time he’d walked as far as he could, he didn’t have the energy to find a bench, so he just sat down on the curb, crossed his legs, hugged himself tight, and tried not to cry.

God, what had he done? He was bitter; at himself, at John, at Henry Laurens, at everything that had happened, and _this_ is what he’d done about it.

He felt a twinge, an almost nostalgic feeling for the days when he couldn’t even _remember_ how to feel like this. How to feel this _much._ It was awful and terrible and _why would he ever wish for that numbness again,_ but fuck if he didn’t want it back, if only for one day.

The main problem was, Alex had no idea how John was going to react to the letter. He had no way of knowing what he was going to do next, and he should _definitely head back to find out._ John was spontaneous and unpredictable, and Alex needed to be there for damage control.

He couldn’t move his legs to stand up.

So he sat, and he stared at the sky until the moon had passed overhead, and he thought of nothing.

When he tried to move again, he found he could wrestle himself into a standing position, and walking was simple enough after that. His feet went numb as he made his way back, taking a different, more indirect path than he’d taken to get out in the first place.

Someone asked him for directions, then if he was high, but his hearing was a little muffled and the closer he got to the hotel, the harder he found it to really draw a proper breath. He pushed past them and found the road that the hotel was on and followed it until he could see the building and he _still couldn’t breathe._

He focused in on the door, because if he could get to there, and then a little further, he could get to John, and maybe, _maybe,_ they could work this out.

He stumbled down the hall, ignoring the shout from the receptionist, and came to a halt outside their room. His and John’s. Jointly. Together. Alex leaned his forearms against the wall and pressed his forehead into his hands and regained some control over his breathing, then pushed back. He fished the room key out of his pocket and, after three tries with shaking hands, managed to unlock the door and push it open.

It took him a second to realize exactly what was wrong with the room, at first. He let the door fall closed behind him and wondered why the room was so tidy and if John was in the bathroom and if he’d stress-cleaned.

And then.

And then.

And then, he realized.

There were books stacked on their bed, which had been made neatly. Alex’s suitcase stood open on the floor, his side of the room still cluttered and in desperate need of an organizational system. John’s side was pristine—not a spot on the ground, no luggage to be seen. When Alex numbly checked the bathroom, John’s things were gone from the sink, the shower.

Alex turned back to stare at the books on the bed, with a folded piece of paper on top, and it hit him like a train.

John was gone.

And suddenly, he couldn’t get a full breath in again. He scrabbled at the door, left it open as he dashed down the hall. Back past the receptionist, who jumped as he went running past, out into the parking lot.

He turned a circle, eyes wild, not quite focused.

John’s stupid, expensive car was nowhere to be seen. And Alex could only stare.

He made his way, a little more slowly, back inside, this time stopping at the desk. “Did you—”

“Your friend left an hour or so ago,” the woman interrupted, sharp, like she’d been waiting to tell him that the whole time. “He paid for the room for a week in advance and didn’t really say anything else.” After glancing Alex up and down, she continued, “He seems like kind of a dick, you know. You guys didn’t agree to this?”

“No,” Alex breathed, and then her words hit him, and he hissed, more fiercely than he had any right to, “and _don’t_ call him that.”

He left before she could say anything else, and as he closed the door to their—his, now, he supposed—room behind himself, he could only think about how empty it seemed without John.

He sat on the bed and looked at the books. One toppled off the stack as the mattress caved underneath his weight. _The Lightning Thief._ The next one in line was _The Titan’s Curse._ Alex supposed _Sea of Monsters_ was still somewhere on his side of the room.

It occurred to Alex that this was the most ridiculous real-life symbolism he’d ever been a witness to, and he almost wanted to laugh. He did. It dissolved into dry sobs, because he didn’t have the energy to really cry anymore.

“God,” he whispered, between heaving breaths, “I guess I—” cough, sob, heave “—deserved that.”

He decided, after his sobs died down into soft, rapid hiccups, to read the note. The paper had fallen into the sheets when the books fell, but with a little bit of searching he managed to unearth it.

Upon opening it, he first noticed the little sketch of him in the bottom right corner. The writing left room for it, like John had drawn it first and done the writing second. Like he’d taken time to think it over.

Alex covered his mouth as he read, because he didn’t want to deal with the fucking _embarrassing_ dry sobs again.

_My Dearest Hamilton,_

_Why the hell did you have to start with that? I’m horrible at this, I’m downright horrible at most things, but at least I have some sense of tact. I thought I’d return the favor, though, so._

_I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be writing here. I guess I thought the books might be… enough. Or something. I guess that at some point, I realized that you were right, you know? But I didn’t want to say it, because I’d been so sure, and because I don’t think I ever told you in person, but I love you. I didn’t want to leave you. But you… your letter, it… I don’t know. It just made it so obvious that you didn’t want me here? Or that you didn’t want to be here. So. Now neither of us have to be there. Here. Wherever. Point is, you can go home, now, and you don’t have to fucking_ ~~_pity_~~ _worry about me anymore._

_I left two fifties on the nightstand. You can grab a bus or a train back to New York or Virginia or wherever you want to go. I’m taking my car, so. Sorry._

_I don’t know where I’m gonna go, after this, but you shouldn’t worry about it, or try to follow me. I left you your phone, too, so that’s out. Don’t try to contact me, either, please. This has been a huge mess for both of us, and I just… You don’t need to feel responsible for me. At all._

_On the subject of your phone, sorry if my dad calls. You can just ignore him or tell him we’re not together anymore or whatever. He should leave you alone eventually. I think. You know what, just tell him off. You’re good at that._

_I’m also sorry that I made so many promises I couldn’t keep. I told you I wouldn’t leave, but here we are. I just figured that if you didn’t want me here, then I’d be better off breaking that one. I’m sorry for every other promise I made, about how we’d work it out, how it would all be okay. I’m a fucking liar._

~~_God, sorry, I’m a fucking mess._ ~~

_Good luck with college and everything. I wish you only the best. I love you._

_Yours forever,_

_John Laurens._


	13. “Everyone’s running from something, huh?” “Or somethings.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John runs away, briefly meets a new friend, and is accosted by more eccentric personalities.

John was pretty sure he was drifting between lanes, but it was one in the morning and there was no one else on the highway, so he didn’t bother expending the energy to actually pay attention to the road. God, he should head back. He had nowhere to stay and no idea where he was (the sign he passed a while back said Central City, Kentucky, but that had been a long time ago), and he just wanted to fucking talk to Alex.

Except Alex had made it pretty clear that he wasn’t wanted there, and  _ fuck, _ he’d already broken all of his promises so he couldn’t go back on  _ this _ one, too. John slammed his hands against the steering wheel and the car swerved, and the thunder strip sounded, and he slammed on the brakes, but the tires skidded off of the pavement and down the slope and  _ shit, _ his car was in a ditch.

It was one in the morning, and his fucking  _ car was in a ditch. _

John wanted to fucking  _ scream, _ but instead he took a deep breath and counted to ten and opened his door once his hands stopped shaking.

A quick examination revealed that the car wasn’t damaged, but John couldn’t just roll it out of the ditch by himself, so he heaved a sigh and pulled open the backseat door. He clambered in and pulled around himself an old windbreaker he found on the floor. He closed his eyes and wished for sleep, but he suddenly remembered asking Alex to do exactly this, and his breath caught. There was a pressure behind his eyes, a threat of tears, but he swallowed and breathed and counted to ten, and even if he didn’t get much sleep that night, he didn’t cry much, either.

* * *

 

John woke from his doze to a tap on the window. Outside stood a man of about fifty, looking mildly concerned. John rolled down the window.

“Ya need help?” the man asked, glancing into the car.

John let out a soft sigh and nodded. “That’d be nice.”

“How long you been out here?”

John shrugged. “Well, I spun off around midnight, so however long it’s been since then.”

The man raised an eyebrow, looking impressed, which wasn’t a very good sign, in John’s book, but the man stood back so John could get out of the car. “C’mon, let’s get ’er turned around.”

It took a lot of heaving and John feeling like his shoulder was about to pop out of its socket, but he and the man, who introduced himself as Will, managed to get the car out onto the road. As they came up over the ridge and onto the highway, John noticed a beat up old pickup parked in the opposite lane, which he assumed must be Will’s ride. There were no other cars in sight.

“Thanks,” John said breathlessly, offering Will a hand.

Will shook it, nodding. “No problem. Don’t go spinnin’ off any more highways in the middle of the night, now.”

John smiled and nodded, looking down at his feet. “I’ll do my best.”

“Have a nice day,” Will said as he got back into his truck.

“Safe travels!” John called after him, as he drove off.

Once he was out of sight, John turned back to his car. It had a few new chips in the paint, but it was still serviceable. He got back in and set off in what Will had told him was the direction of Missouri, humming to a song that wasn’t playing.

The next town he passed through—Round Knob, Illinois, the sign read—had a mechanic’s shop with an old car field sprawling out behind it. John looked at his car, looked at the field, and had to wonder where the nearest bus stop was.

He went inside to ask and ended up selling the car. He didn’t even bother to consider the price, just handed over the keys and his bank account information. Turned out, there was a bus that came through on its way south, and John planned to catch it. He still had a couple hours to wait, so he found a diner down the road and collapsed at a table.

It was so similar to the day he met Alex, he could feel a knot in his throat. He wasn’t going to cry about a decision  _ he _ made, least of all in a shitty diner in Illinois.

_ God. _

John could kick himself.

What the hell was he going to do? He had no car, no plans, and no way of communicating with the outside world. He considered buying a new phone, but the threat of having to continue patching things with his father was enough to deter him.

He knew, in a vague sense, that he had to do that at some point, but he was so tired of Henry  _ fucking _ Laurens at this point, and he wasn’t about to deal with him willingly. John blew out a long breath and put his head in his hands.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

He knew he was purposely avoiding thinking about Alex. He didn’t have to think about Alex.  _ Not everything had to be about Alex. _

Also, John knew that if he kept thinking about him, he’d start crying in a shitty diner in Illinois. Which he’d already agreed with himself he  _ wasn’t going to do. _

The clock on the wall read 12:58. He should probably eat. He should probably get a phone, or a watch. He should probably stop thinking so much. He should head south. He should head home.  _ God, he should just stop. _

John scrubbed at his eyes, because he wasn’t going to cry, and when the waitress came over he ordered a sandwich and tea and tried to stop thinking.

After eating, which helped shut off his mind, he killed another hour sitting at the bus stop, finishing  _ The Lost Hero _ and starting on  _ The Son of Neptune, _ and then the bus arrived. He looked up as it rolled to a halt. It looked nearly empty, save for a few tired-looking college students and an old lady who’d fallen asleep knitting.

The driver gave John a once-over, but he looked more like he was deciding whether or not John would threaten him with a knife than really judging his appearance. Eventually, after another moment of tense staring, he beckoned John up into the bus, and John handed over cash for a pass. He felt as if they’d come to some sort of truce. The thought made him smile, if only faintly.

John chose a seat at the back of the bus, dragging his suitcase with him and propping it on the vacant seat across from him. The only people around him were a young woman, who was alternating between scanning her phone and gazing out the window, and the old sleeping lady.

John opened  _ The Son of Neptune _ and didn’t pay attention to the stops as they came up. He spent an hour or two that way, and when he next looked up, they’d crossed into Tennessee, and were about another hour away from Memphis.

He debated getting off there, because it was far enough, for just a little while, and he needed to get his bearings at  _ some _ point, right? He glanced around the bus. The young woman had fallen asleep, jacket falling open and baring a smattering of bruises on her collarbone; the old lady had snored herself awake at some point, and was back to knitting something that looked to be turning into a really, really big scarf.

John glanced down at his book.

When they passed Memphis, no one got off.

John was about halfway through his book when he noticed the young woman stirring. She stood, glanced around nervously, and made her way back towards him. The closer she got, the more he realized that she was barely more than a  _ girl. _ He didn’t say anything as she sat down in the seat kitty-corner from his, avoiding his suitcase.

“So,” she said, and looked at him like that was supposed to mean something.

“So,” he replied, and maybe he would’ve been testy, some time in his past, but he was too tired for that right then, and a little too intrigued.

“Maria Re—” she broke off, looked down at her hands, like they would give her some sort of clue as to…  _ whatever _ was bothering her. “Maria Lewis,” she tried again, and gave him a quick, hesitant smile.

“John…” John trailed off as well, suddenly getting why she’d hesitated, and when he met her gaze, he knew that they understood each other, in a way. So he took a breath, and said, “John Laurens,” and held out a hand.

Maria stared at him, wary eyes flickering between his eyes and his hand, like she was afraid to touch him. John was about to let the issue drop when she reached, very slowly, towards him, and shook his hand. He smiled at her, then, and they both pulled away.

“Everyone’s running from something, huh?” she asked, and gave him an inquiring look.

“Or some _ things,” _ John agreed. He shrugged nonchalantly, like his life wasn’t falling down around him, crushing him. “Family… friends… life’s messy.”

Maria rolled her eyes. “God, tell me about it.” She ran a hand through her hair, which was short and choppy, like she’d cut it herself. John guessed she probably had. Suddenly, she froze, and drew her zip-up hoodie a little closer around herself, her eyes becoming guarded.

John held up a hand, in hopes to placate her. “Relax, we’re all fucked up here. I saw them when you fell asleep.”

Maria held her hoodie close for a few moments longer, eyes searching John’s, before she slowly let herself unwind, revealing the bruises peeking out from under her tank top. “Sorry,” she said, looking ashamed.

“Don’t be,” John said, and even though he knew, he  _ knew _ that would never change anything, it was better than not saying it.

Maria looked past him, out the window, eyes tracking the scenery as it flew by. “Corn has never been so riveting.”

John snorted. “Oh, yeah, definitely.” They lapsed into silence, fueled by thought and quiet concentration on the fields passing by. “It  _ does _ do wonders for taking your mind off of everything,” he said, at length.

Maria nodded slowly. “’S nice.”

“Hear, hear,” John joked, and they were quiet again.

They sat in silence until they arrived in a little town in Mississippi, and Maria stood up. She looked like she was about to get off when she turned back to John.

“You got a phone, John Laurens?”

John smiled apologetically. “I don’t, Maria Lewis.” Her face fell, and John got an idea.  _ “But, _ I do have a book and a pen.” He offered them up, and Maria smiled, true and genuine and bright, like he hadn’t seen on her yet, and she scribbled her number down quickly.

“When you get a phone, Laurens,” she said, and shot him a friendly glare.

“Yes, ma’am,” he shot back, and mock-saluted.

Maria smiled again as she got off the bus, and John turned back to his book. He felt… better. Marginally.

He almost wanted to get off and go after her, but the bus doors were closing, and he’d made a promise that he intended to keep, and that was good enough for him. That said, John was definitely considering finding someone new to travel with, to help take his mind off Alex.

John realized, abruptly, that he hadn’t thought about him at all while Maria was with him. He felt terrible and guilty and ecstatic, all in equal measures. (Well, not really  _ equal _ measures, because he was about to cry again, but he could convince himself pretty well.)

He looked back down at his book and swallowed hard, then threw himself back into the task of forgetting the entire world.

He finished  _ The Son of Neptune _ and put a bookmark on the page that Maria had written on, and didn’t start on  _ The Mark of Athena, _ instead staring out the window and thinking about Maria and the bus ride and the fucking  _ science of corn, God, anything but Alex, _ until the bus stopped in a town he didn’t know. It was far enough south that he figured he could get off and nobody would look for him. So he stood up, stretched, and made his way towards the front of the bus.

He passed by the knitting lady, and she caught his wrist. He turned, bewildered, until she offered up her project, which did, in fact, turn out to be a giant scarf.

“A gift, for your travels,” she said, and smiled at him in the way only old people can manage.

John’s brow furrowed. “You’ve spent hours on that. I can’t take it.”

“It’s a gift,” she insisted, and patted his hand. “You’ve been through enough to earn a scarf, dear.”

John opened his mouth to ask how the  _ hell _ she knew that, but she smiled the smile again, and he really had to get off the bus, so he took the scarf and thanked her and left, still slightly bemused.

He watched the bus pull away, watched until it faded into the distance, and then realized that he had absolutely no idea where he was, where he was going, or how he was going to get there.

He wasn’t even sure if this town had a hotel he could stay in.

The only way to find out was to look, he supposed, so he made his way into town. It was a relatively small city, but it was still a city, so perhaps the hotel speculation had been a little pessimistic. Still, John wasn’t keen on walking wherever the hell he was supposed to go.

It was getting dark, too, so he had to find somewhere to stay quickly, or else he’d be pretty fucked.

As he made his way farther into the city he decided that walking may have been a mistake. He kept going, but after the tenth block with no hotels, he sighed and glanced around for a bus stop. He wondered if cities this size even had buses running.

He walked a few more blocks in search of a bus stop, but that venture was fruitless, too, so he just let out a defeated sigh and dropped onto a bench on the sidewalk. God, where even  _ was _ he?

He had no idea.

John wrapped the scarf around his neck and settled in for a long night.

* * *

 

It was about midnight, according to the clock tower in the distance, when John heard the growl of a car engine, the first one for hours. It jolted him awake from a light doze, and he sat up on the bench. Headlights meandered down the road towards him. The closer they got, the louder the rumble of the engine became.

John couldn’t make out much until the car—van—jerked to a stop in front of him. It was one of those 1960s VW vans, painted mint green and absolutely  _ covered _ in bumper stickers. John only had time to read one that read  _ FREE PUNCHES IN THE FACE _ before one of the windows rolled down and a burly guy with a bandana stuck his head out.

John glanced past him to see a lighter-skinned guy with wiry hair pulled back into a bun wink at him from the driver’s seat. John raised an eyebrow and looked back to the bandana guy.

“You look like you need a pick-me-up or a ride or both,” Bandana Guy said.

John narrowed his eyes. “Why are you offering?” Granted, it was a little hard to be suspicious of someone when they had as many bumper stickers as these two, but one could never be too careful.

Bandana Guy barked out a laugh. “Because Laf insisted and I can never say no to them.” He tilted his head back at the bun guy.  _ Oh. _

“Right.” John glanced around the street and realized he wasn’t going to get much better than this, so he stood up and grabbed his luggage. “Okay, sure. Nice to meet you. I’m John Laurens.”

Bandana Guy looked like he was trying to remember where he’d heard the name before, but John wasn’t offering any more information, and he eventually just said, “Hercules Mulligan.”

“Lafayette,” the bun guy—person?—said, with a thick French accent. “A pleasure.”

John heaved his suitcase into the back of the van and pulled the sliding doors open, climbing inside. There was a heavily cushioned bench just behind the two front seats, and behind that was a bed, sheets strewn about and pillows scattered across the floor. John dragged the doors closed, sat on the bench, and Lafayette started driving.

“Sorry ’bout the mess,” Hercules said, waving towards the back. “We don’t get guests, which  _ someone—” _ a pointed look at Lafayette “—didn’t think of before inviting you in.”

Lafayette held up a hand, trying to look apologetic and failing miserably. “I am just a better person than you, it seems, offering shelter to the needy.”

Hercules snorted. “He hardly looks needy.” He glanced back at John. “I mean, no offense. But that vintage tee shirt could  _ not _ have been cheap.”

John felt oddly guilty, for some reason, about the shirt. He’d never been  _ overt _ about his wealth, but when everything he owned was expensive, the more observant people tended to notice. “Um, yeah, no, it wasn’t,” he said, uncomfortable.

Lafayette glanced back at him, eyes glinting with mischief, until Hercules smacked their arm and barked, “Eyes! Road! Not dying!”

Lafayette sighed dramatically but looked back at the road. “If you stole the shirt, John, we will not tell.” Their tone was teasing.

“Ah, yes, I’m an infamous con man,” John quipped. “That’s why I’m on the run. Little do you know, you’ve just condemned yourselves to jail by picking me up.”

“That’s a little too believable for my taste,” Hercules volunteered, and Lafayette laughed.

John settled back into the seat. This was nice. He could get used to this.

“Well, now we just have to live a life of crime,” Lafayette said, nudging Hercules’ arm. “We can live like royalty.”

John was suddenly reminded of Alex’s fucking nicknames, of all things, and Hercules was saying something about stolen crowns, but John was long gone. His mind was playing Alex on a loop— _ Princess Laurens _ —the way his voice sounded, the way his eyes looked when he smiled, the way that his lips curved when he frowned, the way he felt when John kissed him, when John would thread his hands through his hair—the way he looked when John fucking  _ broke _ him.

It was the most he’d thought about Alex in the past eight hours, and he didn’t realize it until he was coming back to earth because someone was grabbing his arm, and oh, that was Hercules—did he climb over the seat? and he was saying something, something important, probably, but John couldn’t stop thinking about the way Alex looked that one afternoon in Central Park.

Finally, finally, John managed to parse out Hercules’ words, but only after Hercules’ grip tightened painfully on his arms, his shoulders, and he was shouting, wasn’t he?

“John! John! Laurens!” Hercules shook him, just once, looking frantic. “John, can you fucking hear me?”

John, slowly, numbly, brought his hands up to grasp Hercules arms, and he nodded, but his tongue felt too big for his mouth and he didn’t think that he could really say anything.

“Okay, okay,” Hercules said, calming somewhat. “Okay.” He took a deep breath and looked over John’s shoulder, and John realized after another second that Lafayette had stopped the car and was hugging him to their chest from behind.

John gradually regained control of his breathing, but made no move to pull away from Lafayette or remove Hercules’ hands from his arms. He didn’t trust himself to stay in the present, once they were gone.

“John,” Lafayette murmured in his ear, “are you okay?”

John pursed his lips, and he really didn’t know how to respond. “I don’t—” he croaked, and his throat hurt too much to keep going. Hercules disappeared for a moment, returning with a water bottle, which he pressed into John’s hand. John took a small sip, mustering a grateful smile. “I don’t think so,” he managed, finally.

John didn’t miss the sad look that Hercules and Lafayette shared, and he didn’t want to admit to himself that he kind of wanted their pity. He felt like shit.

“It’s okay,” he said, despite that, and gave them both another fleeting smile. “I’m just… it’s a long story.”

“You will tell us, if you want to,” Lafayette said, and John nodded. “Later,” they added, as John pulled out of their hold.

He nodded again and shot both of them a thankful look, taking another sip of water. “Thanks. Sorry about… this.”

“Don’t apologize,” Hercules chided, gently. He punched John’s arm lightly. “You shoulda seen Laf when I first met them.” Lafayette scoffed and John glanced over to see them rolling their eyes. “For real,” Hercules continued, “they were a wreck.”

John couldn’t fight the smile on his face. “Thank you,” he repeated. “Really.”

“’Course,” Hercules said, and Lafayette nodded.

“We are going to go now,” they said, and scooted off of the bench. John gave them an affirmative nod and they settled back into the front seats.

They drove for a while. It was nearly 1 AM—John wondered what time they were planning to sleep—when he finally decided to pull out  _ The Mark of Athena _ and start it. He felt a little bad that he was powering through the series, but he had nothing better to do. Hercules and Lafayette joked around up front while John tuned them out, not letting his thoughts wander past how Percy was going to react to meeting Jason Grace.

John wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the van rumbled to a halt. John looked up to find them parked in the parking lot of a rest stop. Hercules looked back at him, offering a smile.

“We’re stopping here for the night, if that’s alright with you.”

John nodded mutely. It was fine. He was far enough away, nobody could catch up to him that quickly. He slid the door open and stood up for the first time in hours. His feet felt flat and strange against the pavement. He wandered over to the vending machine after ducking into the bathroom, intent on using up all his spare change. He got a couple bags of chips and another water bottle, ending up with three pennies to spare.

Lafayette was leaning against the front of the van, cigarette hanging from their fingers, as he made his way back. They eyed his junk food dubiously and he just shot a pointed look at their cigarette. They sniffed and brought it up to their lips, but they dropped his eyes.

“You may not have one,” they said, glancing back up at him through dark lashes.

“Wasn’t asking.” John toed at the ground, hesitating, before he asked, “Why do you smoke those, anyway?” He figured it was probably rude, but the only other smoker he’d really ever talked to was his father, and he only smoked those dumbass cuban cigars to make himself look better.

Lafayette shrugged and blew out a cloud of smoke. “Look at me,” they said simply. So John did.

He hadn’t missed the definite punk look they had about them—black clothes, studded jacket, combat boots, dark eyeshadow—but he hadn’t wanted to say anything about that either. “How very punk rock,” he said after a moment.

“Fits the—ah—aesthetic,” they said, and took another drag. “It began as a thing I did to piss Hercules off—he does not care much for punk shit—and it… grew—er, escalated.”

John hummed. “Sucks. Does he give you shit for it?”

“Not as much, now,” they said, thoughtful. “He did before only because I gave him reason to. I am… hm… a problem.”

“Problematic?” John offered.

“Right,” Lafayette agreed. “I am less so now.”

“That’s fair.” John studied his shoes and took a deep breath before asking, “Do you—um—”

“Do I wish to quit?” Lafayette asked, voice quiet, and it really didn’t sound good on them.  
John hummed.

“Yes,” they said, softly. “It is a process, it is coming along.”

John looked up at them, but they were focused on something over his shoulder. He turned to see them gazing at Hercules, who was just emerging from the rest stop building. They looked almost wistful.

John didn’t know what to say to any of that, so he just nodded and got back into the van.

Hercules and Lafayette curled up together on the bedspread, so John claimed the bench. The two fought good-naturedly over blankets for a little bit, sleepily kissed each other goodnight, and promptly fell asleep.

John couldn’t bring himself to follow suit, so he just laid there, the back of the bench the only thing separating him from them, and tried not to think about Alex. It got harder and harder the longer he put it off.

John wasn’t about to send himself into another panic attack, though, so he poked around the van until he found a flashlight and got back to reading. He didn’t realize he was falling asleep until everything had already faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we've dumped some more of the kids into the fray. Delightful. As an aside, school starts tomorrow, and I'm fucking DYING, and I have auditions to prepare for, dance classes, normal classes, etc.  
> tl;dr, updates might be a little wonkier than they usually are for a couple weeks/months/however long it takes to get my life together.  
> For now, I hope you enjoyed! You can come check out my [tumblr](https://2000-bees-in-very-comfy-pajamas.tumblr.com/) (which I take writing requests at—cough, cough), as well. Thanks for reading!


	14. “So… the John thing?” “I’ve explained it like three fucking times today and it’s complicated.” “Right.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex takes a bus ride, meets an important woman, and pays an unexpected visit to a pseudo-friend.

Alex hadn’t been able to stay in the hotel room. It was nice of John to rent it out, but Alex couldn’t stand how  _ empty _ it was. He left the morning after without a word and didn’t bother to get a refund on the money spent. He deliberated for a long time over what to do with John’s note; he held it over a lighter until it ran out of fluid, then tucked the paper into his pocket and kept moving. He latched onto John’s words and got on the next bus to New York, sitting at the front and pulling his legs up to his chest, taking up two seats.

Alex didn’t pay attention to the scenery as it went by—he spent a good portion of the ride staring at where  _ The Sea of Monsters _ lay, its final pages taunting him with reminders of all that had been broken. All that  _ he _ had broken. (Alex knew, in theory, that it was a joint effort, but that didn’t stop him throwing his own personal pity party.)

Eventually, because it  _ was _ a 12 hour trip, boredom won out and Alex grabbed the book, flipping through with meticulous precision until he found the page he was looking for. He finished it in a half hour and put it down defeatedly, because if it took him that much effort to finish a book he was already mostly through, he didn’t even want to  _ think _ about starting a new one.

He sat for another few hours, staring out the window and fidgeting. He couldn’t keep his hands still. He felt like if he didn’t keep moving, his heart would beat straight out of his chest, or his lungs would just keep expanding, through his ribs and his body and even his skin, which felt uncomfortable and itchy and too confining. And his heart was beating too hard and he could hear and feel it in his head, but he couldn’t stop thinking, either, and it was all too much.

Because he had left John alone to deal with a father who probably didn’t hate him but who put on a pretty convincing act, and he  _ knew that it was a joint effort, _ but there’s a huge difference between knowing and believing. And Alex knew that John wasn’t doing great, or okay at all, really, and that he’d confided in Alex and now they were both alone, and John had to figure out what to do with his dad  _ alone. _ Alex supposed that was kind of the point of everything he’d put down in the note, but he’d never imagined  _ this, _ but maybe this  _ was _ the best way, and  _ God, _ when did everything get so messy?

Alex just couldn’t believe he’d just… let him go. He hadn’t done anything, even though there wasn’t anything to do, but maybe he could call someone and ask, or get on a bus to where he thought John might be, or something, but he knew that all would be futile, and his phone was ringing.

The phone was ringing. Alex knew, logically, that it wasn’t John, because John had left, and he probably wasn’t coming back, because he’d seemed pretty firm in his decision. But there’s a big difference between knowing and believing.

His hope died pretty quickly when he saw the caller ID and remembered John’s note and wondered what on Earth he was supposed to say to Henry Laurens. He debated letting the phone ring, letting Henry leave a voicemail, letting it all go, for just a moment. He pressed the answer button.

“Hello?” Alex said, softly so as not to disturb the other passengers, and curled closer to the window.

“Jack?” an unfamiliar female voice answered in a whisper, sounding nervous.

“Um, no.” Alex lowered his voice reflexively. “This is—um, this is Alex Hamilton, I—”

“Are you the one he’s traveling with?” she asked, voice so light with hope and happiness and Alex just—

“No, not anymore.” A pause, he could hear the question in her shaky breathing. “We… we decided it would be best if we split up.”

Her voice came back, now raspy, almost inaudible. “Do you… do you know where he is?”

Alex was silent. He wanted to lie to her, so badly. He wanted to make her feel better, tell her that yes, John was okay, even though he didn’t know who she was or how she knew him. He wanted to lie to himself. “No,” he said.

There was something that sounded like a muffled sob, and then she whispered, louder, fiercer, “How the hell don’t you know? Two days ago, Dad said you were—”

“Yeah, well, a lot can change in two days,” Alex said, more sharply than he really meant it to be, and he instantly covered his mouth with one hand, then balled it into a fist, and hissed out a string of apologies, which were cut off by the girl.

“No, no, you’re right,” she said. “You’re a dick, but you’re right.”

Alex huffed self-deprecatingly. “Yeah.” A beat. “Listen, I wish I knew. If I knew, I’d tell you in a heartbeat. You seem… way less shitty than his dad. And he misses the family that doesn’t hate him. But we just… I just… and he…” He swallowed hard, over the lump in his throat. “We’re not together anymore.”

The girl sighed quietly and Alex could visualize her nodding, the way John did when he knew he needed to accept something but didn’t want to. “Okay,” she said, voice strained. “Yeah, okay.”

“I…” Alex wasn’t sure what he was about to say, but then, “The last place I saw him was Taylorsville, Kentucky. We stayed at the Ramada there. Um. The desk lady probably remembers me, I was a mess. So.”

The girl was quiet. “Martha. Laurens. His sister.”

Alex took a second to realize what she was saying. “Oh. Nice to meet you. He… he didn’t talk a lot… about his siblings?” Alex paused, then plowed on, “But I… I remember on the first day I met him, when he first left home, he… you texted him. And you told him to be careful of your dad and everything and he just… When I mentioned your name, he looked so… And one time, when we got shitfaced, he talked about your shitty music taste and how much he hated it and how you blasted it really loud and it pissed your dad off because everyone complained to him—and—and I think he might’ve started crying or something, but—I don’t remember well.” He paused for a breath and heard quiet sobs coming from the other end of the phone. Whatever he was going to say next died on his tongue. Instead, he finished, “He misses you, but I… I don’t know where he is. I’m sorry.”

Martha cried for a long time and Alex kind of felt like joining in, but he restrained himself. The last thing either of them needed was both of them breaking down. She took a deep breath and sniffed and said, “Thank you. So much. I don’t know what… what happened… between you. But I think that he needs someone like you. I think you guys are gonna be good friends. After all this blows over. Thank you.”

Alex stayed quiet, unable to find words.

“I have to go, Alex, my dad’s gonna wonder where his phone is.” Martha sniffled again. “I’ll call you if I find anything on him.”

“Yeah,” Alex breathed, and she said her goodbyes and hung up when he couldn’t manage anything else.

Alex stared at the phone for a long time after the call ended. Eventually, he broke down in tears that he could no longer hold back. He wished he could just turn it all off.

* * *

 

Alex didn’t startle easily, but when he woke to feel his phone, pressed into his thigh, buzzing incessantly, he jumped, losing his balance as the bus jerked to a stop. He ended up on the ground with his bag and several loose books piled on top of him. The other passengers gave him odd looks, but he was more focused on the phone, still buzzing on the seat.

He clambered back up and found that George was calling him. He began absently gathering his fallen belongings and placing them in their rightful bags as he answered.

“George?” he asked, incredulous. He doubted that Martha would’ve told her dad about the situation with John, and was even more skeptical that Henry Laurens would’ve called George so quickly.

“Hey, son,” George said.

A moment of silence, stretching just long enough to be awkward. “Um… is there a reason you’re calling me?” Alex asked slowly.

“I just wanted to check in,” George said, and Alex felt his stomach drop out.  _ Shit. _ “Make sure everything is okay, you know, keep track of where you are in case I need to bail you out of jail or something.”

“See, the thing is, I got arrested—apparently planning the assassination of political figures is illegal—and I don’t know if this counts as my one call, so—”

“Seriously, Alexander,” George chuckled.

Alex quieted, wondering if he could just keep deflecting. He didn’t want to talk about it all over again, not so soon after everything had happened. But George would see right through him. George let him sort his thoughts out, the line silent for a few minutes as Alex collected himself and then, “A lot’s happened.”

George’s only response was a hum.

“We had a few arguments, and I wrote… a thing… and he read it, and I left, and when I got back, he was gone. He left me a… a note? And money for a bus ride. We’d been trying to make everything work, and it was all so complicated, with his family and everything that… that happened… um…” Alex broke off. He wasn’t sure how much of the story he was at liberty to share. He didn’t know how much of the story he even wanted to share.

“Alex,” George prompted gently, “I’m not going to ask what went on between you two, but I need to know if you know where he is.”

Alex breathed out a quiet sigh of relief. “No. I don’t. I, uh, I wouldn’t on the bus back to New York right now if I did.” George made a noise of acknowledgement and Alex continued, “I talked to his sister? She called from her dad’s phone. I told her everything.”

“Okay,” George said. “That’s… that’s fine. Come home, after New York, okay? Martha misses you.”

“Mm,” Alex said, throat suddenly constricting when he thought of Martha, who he hadn’t even said goodbye to, who hadn’t called him or texted him for some reason, who must be worried sick.

“I’ll check in with you later,” George said.

“Yeah,” Alex choked out. “G’bye. Hey—tell Martha I said hi.”

“Okay, son. Bye.”  _ Click. _

Alex slumped back against the seat, and another book flopped out of his bag. Alex glared at where  _ The Titan’s Curse _ lay, the next book in the series. Goddammit, what he would give for better impulse control.

He grabbed the book and flipped it open.

By the time he’d finished the book, it was almost dark, and the bus was pulling into the outskirts of New York City. Alex decided a taxi might be better than a bus trying to get through to Columbia, so when it stopped, still fairly deep in the suburbs, Alex skirted around the other passengers and hopped off. He stretched, checked that he had everything on him, and hailed a cab.

When he managed to flag one down, it swerved towards him and screeched to a halt in a cloud of dust. After a momentary coughing fit and bout of confusion, Alex ducked inside and hauled his luggage up onto the seat next to him.

His driver—obviously Russian, if his name and thick accent were any indication—asked, “Where are you to?”

Alex tiredly recited Burr’s address, a little too out of it to think much of the decision.

“Right,” the driver said, and didn’t say another word as he jerked away from the curb. If Alex had more energy, he probably would’ve been terrified, especially once they entered the busier parts of the city. The taxi driver was fucking insane, but Alex couldn’t focus on anything but the buildings passing by his window.

It occurred to him that he should probably warn Burr of his destination.

_ [8:01 PM] _

_ You: i’m crashing at yours tonight _

_ aburr: Alex, what the fuck? _

_ You: in town, need a place to stay _

_ aburr: Okay… _

_ aburr: So should I just stay with Theo tonight? Because I don’t want to deal with you and John’s shit. _

_ You: uh _

_ You: first of all you met him once _

_ You: second of all no bc he’s not with me anymore so i’m just gonna like crash in my room if that’s okay _

_ aburr: Um… sure? I haven’t touched the room since you left for Virginia. Can I ask what happened? _

_ You: long story _

_ You: i’ll tell you when i get there _

Alex let out a tired sigh, leaning his head against the window and watching various other cars scatter in terror as his cab driver tore through the streets. He felt a dull sense of unease when they pulled up to Burr’s apartment complex far earlier than seemed possible, but he thanked the driver nonetheless and offered a generous tip. He heaved his belongings out onto the pavement and watched the cab tear off into the night, mystified.

Alex took the elevator up to Burr’s place, and gulped down a couple deep breaths before knocking on the door. There was the call of  _ “One sec!” _ and then a surprised Burr pulled the door open.

“You’re here early,” he said.

“Crazy cab driver,” Alex replied, and didn’t elaborate as he pushed past Burr into the apartment.

Burr had a surprisingly nice place, paid for mostly out of inheritance money, in southern Manhattan near the university. It had a full living room and kitchen in addition to two rather nice bedrooms. The first time Alex had seen it, way back before freshman year when Burr offered his place up for him to stay, he’d thought it was a little overkill for a single guy living alone. He’d grown accustomed to it, eventually, though sometimes it still struck him as a wonder that a college student could own something like that.

The door to Alex’s bedroom was standing open, and he gratefully tossed his suitcase on the ground just inside and collapsed on the bed. Burr leaned against the doorframe, looking on with slight concern.

Alex stretched, stiff from a day of sitting around, then sat up and met Burr’s eyes. “Thank you. For letting me crash.”

“Hey, it’s your place, too,” Burr replied, with a ghost of a smile, “no matter how unexpected your stays are.”

Alex nodded, eyes staring, unfocused, at the ground. He didn’t want to answer the question he knew was coming next.

“So… the John thing?” Burr prompted, voice a weird mix of passive and curious.

Alex groaned dejectedly and threw himself back on the bed again. “I’ve explained it like three fucking times today and it’s  _ complicated.” _

“Right.”

When Alex next looked up, Burr was gone from the doorway, returning a moment later with a bottle, which he handed to Alex. It was some cheap brand of beer that Burr still bought despite his apparent wealth, for some reason that was far beyond Alex. He took it nonetheless. They sat in silence until Alex set the empty bottle on the nightstand next to him, and let out a harsh sigh. He supposed he should start talking at some point.

He explained everything that had happened,  _ again, _ with the tired sort of resignation that came with having had nothing but his own thoughts for the past twelve hours. He’d gone over every possible situation, outcome, every solution and patch-up job he could do to salvage whatever he and John had. It wasn’t changing anything.

He eventually reached the end and Burr just made a contemplative noise. Alex shot him an annoyed look. He held up his hands. “Listen, I can only give you two things to work with. One, try to put it behind you. It was one week out of your life wherein you fell for some guy you didn’t really know—”

“I never said—” Alex began, but Burr just gave him one of his trademark infuriating, knowing smiles, and Alex shut up. He hadn’t mentioned  _ anything _ about his and John’s relationship, but damn Burr for being perceptive.

“And you can move on,” Burr continued, unperturbed.

Alex stared at him for a long time before saying reluctantly, “Not to add insult to injury, or fan your flame or ego or whatever, but…” He let out a frustrated sigh. “I didn’t just  _ fall for _ him, I fucking plummeted into the pits of hell. I’d like to wish myself good luck getting back out. And fuck you for making me admit it, but—”

Burr held up two fingers.  _ “Or, _ you could take a lesson or two.” Alex raised an eyebrow, but fell silent. “You remember what I had to go through to end up where I am now with Theo? She didn’t want to break up with her boyfriend, and she refused to even see me for like, two months, but she’d made her feelings clear, and I loved her, so I waited it out. And it worked out. Because I had patience and I trusted her to work her own problems out, and just look at where we are today.”

Alex wanted to argue that it wasn’t the  _ same, _ that Burr couldn’t  _ possibly _ understand his situation, couldn’t know what he was going through and how he felt, but Burr was exactly right. Alex hated it, but he was. And he might’ve even had a point.

“I… am too tired for this,” is what he said instead. Burr seemed to get what he meant, though, because he put a hand on his shoulder and smiled, this one surprisingly genuine. Alex didn’t even know Burr was capable of producing something like that.

“I’ll leave you to mull it over,” Burr said, and stood up. He grabbed Alex’s empty bottle from the nightstand and made his way towards the hallway. He paused in the doorway. “If you ever need… anything. Let me know. Okay?”

Alex stared up at him for a moment, unable to process that Burr was being his…  _ friend? _ He regained his composure and nodded, managing a tight smile. “Okay. I… thanks, Burr.”

“Goodnight, Alexander.”

“Night, Aaron.”

Alex watched him leave, closing the door behind himself. He lay down on the bed, curling into the covers and balling his hands into the sheets. Maybe Burr was right. Maybe he just had to get through the summer, and let John figure out what to do on his own, and wait it out.

_ Hah. _

Alex wondered if he could actually pull it off. He wondered if it would just be another form of resignation. Whatever the case, it seemed like the best he could do, at present. John knew where to find him, if he wanted. Which he didn’t, but. The chance was there.

Alex let himself relax into the mattress, listening to Burr go about his nighttime routine a couple rooms over. He breathed deeply and managed, just barely, to hold onto that thought as he drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took like three weeks because school is in the process of killing me slowly. It's excellent.
> 
> I would also like to mention, because I feel it's important to throw in somewhere and this chapter has certain aspects that only make sense when looked at under this lens, that what I am posting here is, essentially, a rough draft. I'm posting this as I write it, with only a buffer chapter as a safety precaution. So if story arcs seem to pop up out of nowhere or if development or pacing seems weird, that's probably why. That's not to say I'm using the rough draft excuse as a scapegoat—this will be finalized, but only after I finish writing out everything. This probably doesn't matter a whole lot to you as a reader, but I figured I should put it here so it doesn't just end up as a side note at the end of the last chapter. So, there you have it.
> 
> As always, I'm taking requests at my [tumblr](https://2000-bees-in-very-comfy-pajamas.tumblr.com/), so feel free to come check it out!


	15. “Alex. His name was Alex.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hercules, Lafayette, and John go to Arkansas, watch a new movie, and John tells a story.

“So,” John said, leaning over the front seat to talk to Hercules and Lafayette, “I realize I forgot to ask yesterday, but—where to?”

Lafayette hummed, sounding amused. “Very good question. We, too, are not sure.” Hercules grumbled. “Hercules will tell you that it is my fault but I advise you—”

“That’s ’cause it _is_ their fault,” Hercules interrupted, twisting around to meet John’s eyes. “They’re the one who _wanted_ the fuckin’ van, and they didn’t even have a destination in mind when they got it. They didn’t bother to tell me until the second day in.”

John barked a laugh, because at least he and Alex had been better organized than _that._ He closed his mouth abruptly and sank back into his seat. He was supposed to be looking for a coffee place, anyway, because Lafayette had also forgotten that people don’t usually live on four hours of sleep, so he shouldn’t be distracting Hercules or himself with idle chatter.

At least, that’s what he tried to tell himself. John was... never very good at lying to himself about anything, and just ended up distracted. Hercules was the one who spotted the Starbucks, in the end.

Lafayette pulled over and told them to hurry up. Hercules glared at them as he and John made their way inside.

After they’d ordered their drinks, Hercules said, “They don’t usually wake me up this early. I think they’re trying to impress you.”

“Consider me impressed,” John said, rubbing at his eyes. They still felt bleary from sleep, and despite having eaten all of his snacks from the previous night, his stomach felt hollow. He never did like mornings. “Tell them to never do this again.”

Hercules huffed. They got their drinks and headed back outside to find Lafayette flicking a cigarette butt into a garbage can. Lafayette waved when they saw the two of them, and Hercules blew a kiss back while John pretended to gag into his coffee.

John took a sip as he approached Lafayette, nodding at the pack of Marlboros they were tucking into their pocket. “How do you afford those?”

Lafayette glanced at him, surprised. “What?”

John hesitated for a moment, because he didn’t want to be rude, but curiosity won out and he glanced pointedly at the van, then back to Lafayette. “How do you afford those? You live on the road.”

Hercules snorted, and Lafayette gave John an amused look. “I have a… very large inheritance. We live in the van because it is what I wished, not because we cannot afford a house.” They smiled fondly and nudged Hercules, who had gone to stand beside them. “Hercules is always grumbling about going back to our apartment.”

John raised his eyebrows. “You guys have an apartment? Where?”

“New York,” Hercules said, shooting Lafayette a glance. “It’s also where any business worth investing in would be based, and there’s lots of job opportunities.”

Lafayette stuck their tongue out at him as Herc took a drink of coffee. “We will be fine on the road for a little while longer.”

“New York?” John repeated, faintly, “Yeah, that’s, um… nice.”

Lafayette and Hercules both looked at him, concerned. “How about we go back to the road?” Lafayette said quickly, pushing past Hercules and throwing an arm around John’s shoulders. “The—ehm— _horizon awaits,_ yes?”

John glanced at them. They raised their free arm, reaching out towards the sky, and a goofy look stretched across their face, like they’d just proposed a grand, perilous adventure. John supposed that, in a way, they had. He smiled. “Yeah.”

They all bundled back into the van and Lafayette pulled out of the parking lot. They drove for a few minutes, silent but for the quiet din of the radio, before Lafayette said, “So, we will head west?”

Hercules murmured his assent, but John thought for a moment before asking, “Where _are_ we?”

There was the rustle of papers and a few moments of muttering from Hercules. “Southwestern Louisiana. Closer to Texas and the coast than to Alexandria.”

John nodded slowly. After everything that had happened, he still didn’t want to face his dad. He knew he _had_ to, but he wasn’t feeling up for it, at least not at that moment. Still, he shouldn’t be running away. He could just… stall. “Let’s go north. To Arkansas. I’ve never been to Arkansas.”

Hercules snorted. “’Cause there’s no reason to go to Arkansas.”

“Nonsense,” Lafayette dismissed him. “Arkansas it is!”

John smiled and, despite his heavy sigh, Hercules did, too.

They drove on in silence, occasionally singing along to songs on the radio and pointing out unexpected license plates— “The hell is someone from British Columbia doing in Louisiana?”

Lunch was cheap gas station food and slushies, and John felt like a fucking _teenager._ He felt light and free and unattached in all the ways that meant he was most definitely avoiding something, but he didn’t need to think about it. He forgot, for a while, the entire world outside of Hercules and Lafayette and the van and the taste of gas station pizza.

Lafayette and Hercules kissed over their slushies and Hercules complained good-naturedly about cigarettes and John looked on and could almost forget when he had someone to do that with, however short lived it may have been.

“You are upset,” Lafayette said, when they were back on the road, without stopping the car or turning around in their seat.

John opened his mouth to protest, but ended up shrugging and making a noncommittal noise.

“You will tell me one thing,” they said.

“Okay.”

“This… _whatever_ that has happened. It involved a lover?”

John waited for a moment, noted how they kept glancing between him in the rearview mirror and the road, like they were searching for something, how Hercules was completely still in the passenger seat, how both of them were tense, like his answer changed everything.

“Yes,” he said, at length.

Lafayette nodded sagely, and Hercules just glanced back at him sympathetically.

“I am sorry if we are making you upset,” Lafayette said. “We do not mean to.”

“It’s fine,” John said, and he only half meant it, but he wasn’t about to ask something stupid of them. “I can’t exactly ask you to stop being a couple.”

“You’re right,” Hercules cut in. “You can’t tell us to stop. And we aren’t going to, because something’s telling me that you get how shitty that’d be for all of us. But we’re sorry about what happened to you.”

Lafayette sniffed. “I do not like you speaking for me—”

“It’s one of those creepy couple things,” John volunteered.

_“But,”_ they continued pointedly, “I agree.”

Hercules chuckled. After a moment, John sucked in a breath.

“Thank you.”

Hercules nodded. They continued driving, and John felt like he knew them just a little bit better.

 

* * *

 

Two hours later, they came upon a lake. The scenery had been nothing but forest and wheatfields as far as the eye could see, so when the trees parted to reveal a pier stretching out over a glistening expanse of water, Lafayette slammed on the brakes. Hercules let out a shout of alarm as the van jerked to a stop, and John barked out a laugh. Lafayette was too enchanted by the lake to hear them, instead throwing their door open and jogging towards the dock.

Hercules and John traded a glance, and John just laughed harder at his ashen face.

“I feel like you should be used to this by now,” John said as they got out to follow Lafayette.

“I feel like I should’ve commandeered the van by now,” Hercules muttered.

The two of them caught up to Lafayette as they stopped just short of the drop off, leaning against the (probably rotten) wooden railing. There were benches facing out onto the lake, and John sat down on one while Hercules joined Lafayette at the drop off, presumably to make sure they didn’t pitch forward into the water.

“It’s beautiful!” Lafayette exclaimed happily.

“It’s just a lake,” Hercules pointed out. “You wanna see lakes, you go to Minnesota.”

John snorted, amused. “In all fairness, we _are_ comparing this to the riveting Louisiana countryside.”

Hercules shrugged, and Lafayette shouted, “Hah!” like John had actually proven their point. John laughed quietly and watched Hercules wrap his arms around them.

John was reminded of when he and Alex watched the sun set over the pond in Central Park, but it was more of a passing fancy—he and the memory nodded at each other and moved on, and he admired it as it left. It didn’t sting like it did before, it didn’t rip at his heart or attack him or accuse him of anything. He watched it go and it ached, it felt like he was collapsing from the inside out, but he thought of Alex and how his eyes had shone that day, and John smiled.

They stayed there for a while, watching the sun shine on the lake, until Hercules suggested moving on. They were only halfway to Arkansas, and while they weren’t exactly on a schedule, being on the road somehow felt better than sitting and staring at ducks. John stood up, turned, and headed for the van.

“John,” Lafayette’s voice stopped him. He turned. They studied his face. “You are alright?”

He nodded, noticing for the first time how wet his eyes felt. He smiled despite it. “I’m good. Let’s get going.”

Lafayette stared at him a moment longer, and in the end it was John who turned and started back towards the van first. “Yeah,” they said, slowly. John didn’t have to look back to know they weren’t following.

 

* * *

 

They made it to Arkansas in about three hours and decided to stay in a city called El Dorado.

“It’ll be great, I can go around making references,” he joked, because he’d seen the movie about a million times. It was one of Martha’s favorites.

Lafayette tilted their head. “References to…?”

John raised an eyebrow and even Hercules looked surprised. “You’ve never seen _Road to El Dorado?”_ John demanded. Lafayette shrugged. “Oh my God. We’re fixing that.”

“I guess I’ll take the blame for this one?” offered Hercules. John shot him an accusatory look.

“So this is a movie?” Lafayette asked.

“Only the best movie ever,” John said, all mock-offense and dramatic flair. “You’re gonna love it.”

“Right,” they said, and that was that.

It made John wonder if Alex’s laptop was still logged in to his Netflix. The thought passed, and didn’t bite. Again, it hurt like hell, it ached like a broken bone after the shock’s worn off, but it was all so dull.

There was some discussion over where they would stay. Hercules wanted to get a hotel room so John wouldn’t have to sleep on the bench again, while Lafayette was indifferent. John eventually pitched his vote towards a motel, but Lafayette waved him off dismissively.

“That is stupid. We will stay at a proper hotel.” The look in their eyes challenged him to disagree. He didn’t.

They ended up renting a suite at a cute historical hotel in town. It felt expensive, but Lafayette wouldn’t let him see the actual price. John felt a little bad about it, but they kept reminding him of their inheritance and assuring him it was fine.

They wandered the streets of the city until it was time for dinner. It turned out to be a cute town. There wasn’t much to see, but the streets were clean and tree-lined. The search for a dinner restaurant was short-lived, ending when they turned a corner and Hercules smelled Italian. They found a nice restaurant that boasted heavenly pasta, and he wouldn’t let them go anywhere else.

It was late when they got back to the hotel, after walking a few hours more. John was surprised with how confident Hercules and Lafayette seemed to be, even in southern Arkansas. They held hands and Lafayette pecked Hercules on the lips after he made a joke, and Hercules laughed and put his arm around them. John got the distinct impression that he was third-wheeling.

He let out a long breath as soon as the hotel room door closed behind the three of them, shutting out the outside world. He slumped onto his bed, then fell back and stared at the ceiling.

“You good?” Hercules asked. Lafayette had gone to the kitchen (because the suite had a full-on kitchen) to put leftovers away, and Hercules sat down on one of the plush armchairs in the lounge (because the suite had one of those, too).

John sighed loudly. “Just tired.”

“You’re a drama queen,” Hercules told him.

“Fair.”

They sat in silence until Lafayette came back and sprawled out on the lounge’s couch. “You two wanted to show me a movie, yes?”

“Tomorrow,” John groaned from his bed. He didn’t really feel that tired. It was weird. He just didn’t want to go through the effort of talking and being awake and having to be a person around these other people.

“Goodnight, then, John,” was Lafayette’s response.

“Night.”

Lafayette and Hercules went to their room.

John stayed up for a few more hours, reading _Mark of Athena._ It got him thinking about Alex again, and if he was still reading the Percy Jackson series. He wondered if it meant as much to Alex as it did to him. Probably.

That was one of the worst parts of the whole situation (because there were a lot of worst parts)—that John never doubted for a second that he meant something to Alex. That he meant a lot to Alex. He knew that Alex loved him and that, if they’d just met under normal circumstances, without _everything_ looming over them, they could’ve worked. The worst part was that John still wanted that.

The lack of closure was eating at him. He was pretty sure it would always eat at him. It was the frustration—if they loved each other, why couldn’t they just work it out?

_Because life can’t just work itself out, and love doesn’t actually conquer all._

It also got him thinking about why _that_ stung—abrupt and vicious and tearing—but thinking about Alex didn’t. He figured it was something in the difference between remembering Alex, and remembering that he couldn’t _have_ Alex.

Or something like that.

 

* * *

 

John woke up to the creaking of floorboards. He cracked one eye open. It was Lafayette.

They were missing their usual getup—no makeup, no jacket, no combat boots—instead donning a tank top and sweatpants. They looked surprisingly young. It reminded John that they were probably no older than him, even though they acted like they’d seen the whole world, like it would fit in the palm of their hand.

He sat up, just as they reached for the doorknob. “Lafayette.”

They jumped, whipping around to glare at him. Even the glare was less effectual without the heavy eyeshadow and the wicked sharp eyeliner. “John.”

John stood up and glanced around, eventually grabbing a jacket from his still-open suitcase. He pulled it around himself. “May I join you?”

Lafayette glared for a moment longer before shrugging. “If you wish.”

They wandered out to the sidewalk in front of the building and sat on a bench that faced the street. He hadn’t really noticed last night, but all of the buildings on the block looked straight out of the 1700s. A tall red phone booth stood next to them. John felt absurdly foreign and out of place, in his pajamas and his curly bedhead. And his Americanness.

Lafayette lit their cigarette and took a pull before asking, “You slept well?”

“Yeah,” John said. No, he thought. He’d been up half the night thinking. He couldn’t get Alex off his mind. It made him feel even weirder about being there, in colonial Arkansas next to a red phone booth.

“You are thinking so hard I can hear it,” Lafayette said.

John let the silence stretch, not because he didn’t have a reply, but because he didn’t know if they really wanted to hear it. Finally, “Alex,” he replied. “His name was Alex.”

Another pause. “Your lover?”

“That makes it sound weird.” John rested his arms on his knees and his chin on his hands. “We love each other. But ‘lovers’ is too… _forbidden romance,_ not _potential best friends.”_

Lafayette studied him and took another pull from their cigarette, then looked away and breathed out. John was grateful. “Your… potential best friend, then.”

John nodded. The sun was just rising over the horizon, and John realized he hadn’t even checked the time before following Lafayette outside. He wondered how much sleep he’d really gotten. “It didn’t work out… but you probably guessed that.”

Lafayette shrugged. They didn’t pry, but John could feel them watching him, searching. Hercules came out a few minutes later and sat on the bench, on the other side of them.

“Morning,” John said, flashing a smile.

Hercules smiled back and placed a kiss on Lafayette’s forehead.

_“Bonjour,”_ they said, voice colored with amusement.

There were a few more minutes of silence as they all watched the sun rise above the buildings, and people slowly began to trickle into the streets. John thought of Alex, and watching the sun set in Maine. Hercules and Lafayette kept close to each other.

The red phone booth glared at him from the corner of his eye.

“I feel like I owe you the story,” John said eventually. He also felt like the story was caged inside of him, howling and scratching and fighting to get out. Tearing him up. He _wanted_ to tell them.

“You do not owe us anything,” Lafayette replied immediately. John met their gaze evenly, didn’t drop it until, “But I _am_ curious. I will not say I am not.”

“You picked me up and I’ve given you trouble.” John shrugged, nonchalant like all it was was an extra little favor. He tried not to show how much he needed this, how he needed to talk it out as much for himself as for them. “I owe you something.”

“Gas money,” Hercules said. It was the first time he’d spoken all morning. They all laughed.

“Let us watch this movie,” Lafayette suggested, “and afterwards you will tell us your story.”

They headed back inside once the sun rose fully, when Lafayette asserted that they had to put makeup on if they were to be seen in public.

The three of them all sat on the couch in the lounge and John signed in to Netflix on the TV. He sat back and prepared to recite every single line of the movie in his head.

It reminded him of when he and Martha were little, and they would trade off being Miguel or Chel or Tulio or the Emperor, because they knew all the lines back then and they had way too much free time on their hands. John felt weirdly homesick. He didn’t want to go back, he decided. If he had his way, he wouldn’t ever go back—but that was impossible. At the same time, though, he missed his sister, and he would give anything to see her again. It felt like a paradox.

“John, you okay?” Hercules asked, as Miguel and Tulio popped out of barrels.

He shrugged. “’M fine. Just thinking.”

Hercules was quiet for a moment before saying, “You get inside your head. Be careful about that.”

John smiled bitterly. “I learned that lesson already, I promise you.”

Hercules pursed his lips and looked back to the TV. John felt a little guilty. They sat in relative silence for the rest of the film, because Hercules seemed to sense that John was in a touchy mood, and Lafayette was too engrossed in the movie to really care.

As the credits rolled, Lafayette turned to stare at Hercules. “They are so gay.”

“Hear me out,” John cut in, before Hercules could reply. He got two pairs of raised eyebrows in response. “OT3.”

Hercules shrugged, and Lafayette scrunched their nose. “Perhaps…”

“I think you mean _definitely,”_ John said, and there was soft laughter. They all basked in the moment until the screen reverted to Netflix browsing and John could feel a blanket of sobriety settle over the three of them.

Hercules watched him carefully. John could feel Hercules’ eyes tracking his. He watched as Lafayette studied their folded hands. “You still feeling up for that story?” Hercules asked, after a long stretch of silent staring.

John wrung his hands and didn’t reply.

“It is only if you still want to, you are sure,” Lafayette assured him, in a rush. Their words jumbled together into an unparsable mess that John only half heard. He was trying to figure out where, exactly, to start.

He figured the beginning was generally a good place, but that felt so generic. It also felt long. It had only been a week, maybe a few days more, right? Why did it feel like an eternity?

Finally, finally, he said, “I met Alex the day my entire world fell apart, and I thought that maybe, together, we could put it back together.” And he told them. Everything. About meeting Alex and getting to know him and working through everything with him and falling _hard_ for him and leaving him behind. He told them about what had happened with his dad without really telling them who his dad was.

It felt like he was releasing whatever was inside of him, slowly, surely, safely. He didn’t cry, his voice didn’t waver. It was oddly steady; he felt oddly numb. Hercules and Lafayette didn’t interrupt, not even once.

Telling the story felt like a sick sort of irony. It felt too short. Five minutes, ten, maybe, and it was over. That was all he and Alex took, all they lasted—no time at all.

They all sat in silence after John finished. He folded his hands in his lap, waited for them to say something, anything. Lafayette was the first to break the silence.

“You must be joking.”

The sentence hung there, in the air, out of place and half-laughed.

Hercules raised his eyebrows and looked at them—shocked, maybe, at their insensitive outburst. John was shocked, too—surprised, at the very least. Lafayette had always been the assuring, gentle presence. Despite their appearance, they were… nice.

“I’m sorry?” John asked, when they didn’t follow up.

“That is all?” they demanded, incredulous. John shrugged. “You are being stupid.”

Hercules grabbed their arm, a warning. “Okay, why don’t we _not_ verbally attack the guy who just spilled his tragic origin story to us?”

_“Tragic origin story?”_ John repeated, half-offended and half-amused. At least Hercules was defending him.

“Listen, I wasn’t sure what else—”

“You cannot just expect—”

“How about you don’t reduce me to a Goddamned _movie trope—”_

“Why don’t you just go find him?” Lafayette snapped, loud, over the rest of their arguing. Both John and Hercules fell silent, staring at them. John still felt touchy about Hercules’ bullshit, and it wasn’t made better when Lafayette continued, “You know the only two places he could be, why do you not go find him?”

John shook his head. “Christ, Laf, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because we both established _very clearly_ that we didn’t want to see each other? Just a thought.”

“You may relax,” they said, shortly. “I am not offending you. I am just saying, you two could act like adults and not rip yourselves apart.”

“That was offensive,” John quipped. He was very quickly getting fed up with them.

“Laf,” Hercules said, gently, and they shared a look. “Listen, John. Their delivery could be better, but… they’re not wrong. You two had something really good. I’d go after him.”

“Yeah, but I’m the one who left!” John pointed out.

“And you left him with no way to contact you. Everything is in _your_ hands.” Hercules raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to make a decision, you don’t even have to stick with us. God knows Laf’s been enough of an asshole to warrant you just up and leaving.” Lafayette glared, and Hercules turned his raised eyebrow on them skeptically. “But just think about it, okay? It might not be such a bad idea.”

John bit his lip, and, despite his residual anger, nodded. He dropped Hercules’ gaze. “I… Fine. I’ll think about it. Sorry. You’re… you’re right.”

Lafayette gave a small cheer, cut off by Hercules elbowing them sharply.

John nodded again, this time to himself, and let out a long breath. He’d _think_ about it. No rash decisions, not like before. He had time. And besides, he had something he needed to do, first.

John looked up and flashed a quick smile at Hercules. “Have either of you got a phone I can use?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's ships are my ships lmao you can fight me
> 
> Also, I was rereading some of the older chapters and I would like to say, thank you all for reading this far. The first few chapters were... incredibly rough, but I like to think I've improved somewhat since then. It means a lot that you all like this enough to keep coming back despite its blatant flaws. I cannot possibly repay you for your unending support.


	16. “You’ve been working for four days straight, and normally that’s fine, but right now you’re not even good at it.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex works to forget, Burr notices, and the boys take a trip home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I! am! so! sorry! that! this! took! so! long!!
> 
> My general philosophy is that fanfiction authors shouldn't have to apologize for posting something late or with an obscure ship, because they don't really owe their readers anything and they write for the fun of it, but JESUS CHRIST THIS TOOK LIKE TWO MONTHS!!! So I apologize. I'm sort of a mess, but I like this chapter, so here.
> 
> Also, in the car ride, they listen to [Cecily Smith](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HVkq9bnq4U8) by Will Connolly, which is generally a great song and also just a good song for this story. So.
> 
> Final thing for right now—we are in the home stretch! This story has taken forever, and if it plays out like I'm envisioning, I'll probably finish it around February, which would also be the one year anniversary of starting work on this! So that's cool. Point is, after this, we have about three more chapters left, and then an epilogue, so. Prepare yourselves.

Even if Alex trusted Burr about as far as he could throw him (and Alex wasn’t exactly muscular), Burr was right about one thing: he couldn’t do anything about what had happened. He had no idea where John had gone, no number to associate him with, and there were no clues in the note he’d left.

The note, hidden in Alex’s nightstand, sat untouched since he’d gotten back. Untouched, save for the dead of night, when even Burr wasn’t there to see him read it again and again and again—searching. For clues, for insights, for _anything_ that might point him to John.

But he’d found nothing, and all he could do was wait. Everything was up to John, and as badly as Alex wanted to trust him… It was John, who had seemed steady despite everything. John, who had been the one to break. John, who had run away first.

Within days, it grew to be too much for Alex. He couldn’t take how _loud_ his thoughts were, how intrusive, how brutal. How cruel a light they cast on him, on John, who he was supposed to love.

He had essays, anyway, and scheduling, and budgeting, and a million other things he had to do in order to prepare for the upcoming year. It was comforting, in a terrifying way, how easy it was for him to slip away. It was right there in front of him: a half-finished essay, an empty timetable, a dwindling bank account.

And he had to get it all dealt with, perfectly.

The first day was a Wednesday. Alex sat down in front of his computer and stared for a full fifteen minutes at the last paragraph he’d written. He had a storm in his mind and nothing to put into words. Burr came by, watched him for a few minutes, and whispered something incoherent.

Alex sat.

An hour later, he had three more pages written, and an hour after that he deleted them all.

Theses on voter disenfranchisement were _hard,_ especially when he reached for ex-convicts’ rights and got John’s eyes in the morning light instead.

Alex fell asleep late that night, having gotten nothing done. He’d wasted a day. This was a mess.

He woke up to the smell of pancakes and a note on the kitchen counter, pinned under a mug of still-warm coffee. Burr was out with Theo for the day. Alex was left alone.

Burr had a plethora of candelabras in a cabinet, because, in Alex’s opinion, he was dramatic as hell. He also had an antique ashtray, given to him by his late father. Alex lit the note on fire and watched it burn against the crystal, watched the paper curl into the ink and shrivel away to nothing. He could almost pretend it was John’s.

He could almost pretend it was _his—_ the note that ruined everything, that started this mess. The goddamned essay that brought everything crashing down.

Burr came home that afternoon to Alex half asleep, slumped over an incomplete timetable, and candles burning low beside him. The ashes of the note blew across the coffee table with every breath, scarring the surface a jarring black.

“I’m gonna need an explanation,” he said, dryly.

Alex blinked slowly, once, twice, then seemed to snap out of his daze. “Sorry?”

“What were you _doing_ all day?

Alex glanced from the candles to the ashtray to his timetable. “Scheduling. For the school year.”

“Obviously,” Burr muttered, glancing pointedly between Alex and the candles. “And?”

“And… burning… things?” Alex asked slowly.

“John’s note?” Burr asked. His voice held a hint of trepidation. Alex couldn’t help but wonder why.

“No,” he answered, at length. “Yours.”

Burr didn’t reply for a moment, thinking, then asked, “From this morning?”

Alex nodded. “Very therapeutic, I promise.”

Burr just raised an eyebrow. He looked torn between exasperation, concern, and genuine fear. “Alright, I guess? As long as it wasn’t anything important.”

“You have my word.”

“Comforting.”

Alex shot him a glare, but Burr had already turned towards the kitchen. “Have you eaten anything?”

Alex watched him rummage around for a moment before turning back to his schedule. He scanned through the filled-out slots before answering, “The pancakes, from this morning.”

“Alex.” Burr’s voice had that obnoxious tone it got when he was pointing out something he thought was obvious. Something he thought Alex didn’t know. Alex hummed, uninterested. “It’s five o’clock.”

Alex cast a quick glance at the clock, just to make sure Burr wasn’t shitting him. He wasn’t. “I know,” he said, petulant. He hadn’t.

“I’m gonna make dinner,” Burr decided.

“You… do that,” Alex replied, already preoccupied. He tuned out the tired sigh from the kitchen.

* * *

 

Two days later, Burr sat down next to Alex at the kitchen island, where he’d situated himself for the day. He watched as Alex typed, deleted, and retyped the same sentence at least three times before grumbling and moving on.

“Let’s go out,” Burr said. “Tonight.”

Alex hummed noncommittally. He still had so much work to do, and breaking it for whatever the hell Burr had planned didn’t sound like a good idea.

“Drinks,” Burr said, and Alex stopped typing to stare at him.

“No,” he said firmly.

“You’ve been working for four days straight,” Burr reasoned, “and normally that’s fine, but right now you’re not even _good_ at it.” Alex opened his mouth to argue, but Burr continued, heedless, “You’re too busy mooning over John to even notice that you’ve typed the same word three times in a row. It might be better for you to take a break.”

Alex narrowed his eyes. “First of all, I do _not_ moon. Secondly, I’m perfectly aware that I’m writing the same word three times in a row, it’s just that I can’t think of what to put after it, because I’m too busy being _sad_ about being ditched by the guy I was, you know, in love with.”

“You say that like you aren’t still totally taken by him,” Burr said, and Alex could tell he was getting tired of his antics.

“Okay, fine, doesn’t change the fact that I’m _fine,”_ Alex insisted.

Burr was quiet, watching Alex with an appraising look. “Drinks. Tonight. I will drag you out of that chair if you refuse to go yourself.”

“Good luck,” Alex shot back, just short of outright sneering. “I don’t think you’ve ever been to a gym in your life.”

“And you have?” Burr quipped, then patted the back of Alex’s chair. “We’re going out at seven, alright?”

“No.” Alex was _not_ doing this right now.

“Alright,” Burr said, sounding a little too righteous.

Alex ignored him. There was no way he would actually _drag him_ from the chair. It was Burr, after all—opinionless, uninterested, aloof. Alex doubted he could make up his mind on which bar to go to, much less whether or not to manhandle Alex out of the apartment.

Alex went back to writing, because he had to _get this done,_ and it was better than thinking everything through for the millionth time. The day passed slowly, and Alex barely had another paragraph finished by the time Burr came back into the kitchen and began rummaging through the fridge.

Alex hummed inquiringly, not bothering to look up from his computer screen.

“Lunch,” Burr replied, sounding exasperated, as always.

Alex hummed again and tuned him out, only distracted when Burr set something down next to him. Alex raised his eyebrow over the bowl of soup that was probably leaving a water ring on the textbook it was sitting on. He had no interest in food, not when he was in the middle of writing.

“You have to eat at some point,” Burr pointed out.

“Okay, after I’m done with this.” Alex picked the bowl up and set it behind his computer, where it was safely out of sight and away from his textbook.

“You won’t be done with that until I physically force you to be.” Burr watched him closely, daring him to disagree.

“I’ll…” Alex sighed, frustrated. “I might stop for dinner.” Burr barked a deprecating laugh. “But it doesn’t matter! Work takes the priority, anyways.”

“You’re a mess.”

“Yeah, well, you never cared before!” Alex snapped. He was tired of Burr _caring_ so much. Sure, it was kind of nice that, after two years of mostly hating each other, he was actually being Alex’s friend, but if a broken heart was the cost of friendship, he didn’t want it. “I’ve been like this for _years._ I don’t take breaks or slow down or whatever the hell you want me to do. I just… keep going. Because that’s what makes me worth it—work ethic.”

Burr’s eyebrows furrowed. He looked almost… confused. Worried.

“I’m infuriating and I’m disagreeable but I’m a fucking genius, and that’s why people keep me around.” Alex held his head high, like he wasn’t admitting his deepest insecurities, like he wasn’t showing _everything_ to a man he wasn’t even sure he could stand most days. Quieter, he finished, “That’s why they care about me.”

Burr’s lips parted ever so slightly, and he looked at Alex like he wasn’t sure who he was seeing. “Alex…”

“I’m just…” Alex shook his head, closed his laptop, stood up. “I’ll be in my room. Sorry about… yeah.” And he left, and Burr stood there, looking lost and worried and like he’d just learned something awful and inevitable.

* * *

 

At seven, there was a knock on Alex’s door. It sounded resolute and hesitant at the same time, and it was so _Burr_ that Alex could’ve laughed.

“No,” he said, before Burr could even ask.

“Oh, come on.” He tried the handle, but Alex had locked it for precisely this reason. “Alex, it’s just an hour or two. Please?”

“No,” Alex repeated. A few seconds passed and Burr didn’t reply, so Alex went back to his essay.

Another minute passed, and a clicking noise came from the door. Alex glanced over, alarmed. “You’re kidding,” he muttered.

“Dead serious, I’m afraid,” Burr replied, through the door.

Alex stared the door down as Burr picked the lock, like if he just _looked_ hard enough, Burr would leave him alone.

The lock clicked and the door opened without protest.

“It still astounds me that you know how to do that,” Alex said, still sitting.

“C’mon,” Burr said, ignoring him.

“I already said no,” Alex insisted.

Burr sighed deeply and, as he walked over to Alex’s desk chair, Alex had to wonder if he really had the arm strength for this.

“Don’t make this embarrassing for both of us,” Burr said, sounding pained, as he came to a stop in front of Alex’s chair.

“Tell you what,” Alex said, just because he was curious. “If you can carry me to the living room from this chair, I’ll come.”

Burr raised his eyebrow but didn’t reply, instead stooping down to scoop him out of the chair. He carried Alex bridal style, and Alex wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. He ended up awkwardly holding them to his chest until Burr deposited him on the couch with a pointed look.

Alex heaved a sigh. He couldn’t believe he’d let Burr carry him, and _bridal style to boot_ —the image in and of itself was hilarious. Still, it meant he’d lost. “Fine, sure, I’ll go. Just let me get changed.”

Burr cracked an almost-smile, and nodded. “Great. Ten minutes?”

“Sure.” Alex could almost smile, as well. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It was Burr, his long-time college roommate. They got along fine, most of the time, and it was getting too late to work on his essay anyway.

* * *

 

In hindsight, going drinking with Burr was definitely a bad idea. He was all cryptic bullshit and exasperated sighs, but as the night went on, the more Alex realized that he needed someone to complain to, and he had no friends.

“I did say to wait for him, you know, but this isn’t really what I meant,” Burr said, gesturing to Alex.

Alex raised an eyebrow. “You’re gonna have to be less vague about… everything.”

“You, being all unhealthy.” Burr paused, and looked at his hands. “I’m just… worried. I know that you usually do that, but it’s just… now you’ve got a real reason to just throw everything away and I really don’t know how that’ll work out for you.”

Alex blinked. “I’m not throwing everything away for John. I’m just working.”

“No, you’re working to forget.” Burr raised his eyebrows, challenging Alex to come up with a better explanation.

“I’m not… Fine, you’re right.” Alex rolled his eyes. “I’m working to forget. But I’m working. And look, I’m here with you. I’m doing great.”

“I practically had to drag you out here. And when was the last time you went outside?” Burr shook his head. “You even sound fake to yourself, and you know it. All I’m saying is you could be going about this better.”

Alex had to admit, he was kind of right, but… “And how the hell am I supposed to do that? You moped around for three months before Theo would even talk to you. How’s what I’m doing any different?”

“It was two months, for one thing.”

“Not the point.”

Burr sighed for maybe the fifteenth time that night, and it took all Alex had not to throttle him in that very moment. “Okay. Just… You don’t even know where John is. And you can’t do anything about that, but you can’t just beat yourself up over it, either. If he never shows, you’ll be in a never-ending limbo. And that would suck, because you’d always be waiting for him and working yourself to the bone, denying that you’re doing it to kill time. I don’t… I don’t want to see you end up like that.”

“The compassion, it’s killing me,” Alex said, dryly, because he didn’t know quite how to handle Burr being so genuine for the sixth day in a row.

Burr didn’t reply, but his face did a weird half-smile thing that looked almost fond, and Alex wasn’t about to deal with that. He drained his glass and raised it to Burr’s. “Another round?”

Burr looked like he wanted to say something else, but he just shrugged and murmured, “Another round.”

One round later, Burr’s hands grew suspiciously still around his glass and he asked, quietly, “So, is it back to Mount Vernon then?”

Alex thought of George’s call, of Martha, and nodded. “Even I need some time away from college.” He huffed humorously, then, more somberly, added, “Martha misses me. She worries.”

“It’s you.” Burr smiled mysteriously, like he knew something Alex didn’t. “Of course she worries.”

“I’m not _that_ bad,” Alex protested.

Instead of answering, Burr asked, “When are you planning to head back?”

Alex shrugged, ignoring the blatant non-sequitur. “Tomorrow? Day after? I haven’t exactly unpacked, so I could probably leave anytime.” He didn’t have anything planned, just the knowledge that he had to go back. That John would be able to find him there, if he wanted. God, Alex had really committed to the waiting idea, hadn’t he?

Burr mulled it over for a moment, “If we leave tomorrow afternoon, I can drive you.”

Alex blinked in surprise. “What, like a shitty roommate bonding exercise?”

Burr raised his eyebrows and, again to Alex’s surprise, laughed. It was quiet and subdued, but it was there. “Yes, I guess, like a… shitty roommate bonding exercise.” He looked slightly pained, but his smile lingered.

Alex just stared at him for a moment, in disbelief, and then he smiled, as well. “Sure, okay. Tomorrow afternoon, then.” He raised his glass. Begrudgingly, Burr did, too. Alex got the feeling that he’d be okay.

* * *

 

The next morning was slow and tired, and neither Alex nor Burr spoke a word while they maneuvered around each other in the kitchen. Burr made coffee, because his coffee was amazing and he always made it for Alex during school, and Alex made toaster waffles, because he was too tired for anything else.

Burr watched with an unimpressed stare as Alex drenched his waffles in syrup, and Alex watched with equal disdain as Burr poured three teaspoons of sugar into his coffee.

They ate in discontented silence. After, Burr steepled his hands over his empty coffee mug. “You should pack.”

“Are you just driving straight back?” Alex asked.

“Sure. I wasn’t planning on staying, at least.”

Alex couldn’t imagine Burr was looking forward to the 8 hour drive, but he wasn’t about to give up a free ride, either. “Alright. I’ve pretty much got everything together. Do you wanna head out now?”

“It’s up to you.” Burr had on an obviously practiced neutral expression, and it infuriated Alex that he couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Alright, now it is.” Alex stood up, grabbed his plate. “Are you going to run the dishwasher?”

Burr smiled quickly and stacked their plates.

That was fine.

* * *

 

The first problem with driving for 4 hours with a roommate he didn’t really like until three days ago was that Alex didn’t know what Burr’s music taste was. He didn’t know if Burr particularly _liked_ music. He also felt like three years into a friendship was a weird time to ask.

So he let Burr decide. Burr quietly put on a news station, let the voices fade into white noise and stall Alex’s thoughts. It was a surprisingly nice change of pace.

After a half an hour, Alex pulled out _Battle of the Labyrinth_ and started it. It made him think of John, of course, but staring out the window wordlessly was getting awkward. Unfortunately, it also raised questions.

“Isn’t that a children’s book?” Burr asked, a couple minutes later.

Alex hummed. “It was… John really liked this series as a kid? So the moron bought the whole series while we were on the road. Because he didn’t… The books weren’t with him at the time, and he wanted me to read them. So I am.”

Burr nodded, eyes flickering towards Alex’s quickly. “Are they good?”

Alex smiled, small and fond. “Yeah. They’re… humorous. And they actually have really nice story arcs.”

“Good taste,” Burr said, and then fell silent. Alex didn’t want to ask what exactly he meant by that, so he accepted the quiet and went back to reading. It struck him, in the face of all this, how similar the two of them were. He kind of hated it, but there were worse people to be compared to.

They sat, listened to the radio more, and Alex read. Burr didn’t make any more conversation, but after another half hour he just said, “Shuffle my music?”

Alex blinked. Burr’s phone was in one of the cup holders. He already knew the passcode—he’d broken into Burr’s phone to talk to Theo far too many times while the two of them were still figuring themselves out. It surprised him that Burr hadn’t changed it yet.

Burr’s music… also surprised him. The first song to come up was called _Cecily Smith,_ and it was the perfect love story. And it reminded Alex of orchestral music and _Heathers_ and _Sondheim on Sondheim_ and John. And Alex didn’t read a single word while it droned on softly, chord after chord and line after line, forcing him through every single moment he’d ever spent with John in four minutes.

It ended, muted, bittersweet, _“It’s sad but true, how much I miss you… Life is not the things you do, it’s who you’re doing them with.”_

Burr didn’t speak, and Alex didn’t want to leave it at _that,_ so he forced himself to say, “I didn’t know your music taste was so… gentle.”

“You didn’t know about my music taste at all,” Burr pointed out.

“Yeah, I know.” Alex swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I just… it’s so… I—I guess it’s nostalgic? Or, it gives me nostalgia, at least, and that reminds me of everything… _good…_ that happened recently.”

Burr made a soft noise of acknowledgement. Alex figured he knew when not to speak. He was… thankful. For once, Alex didn’t mind the quiet. For once, Alex let it stand.

They drove on and the world moved on around them, and the silence stretched on perfectly.

* * *

 

The scenery gradually grew more familiar as they neared Mount Vernon. Luckily, they didn’t pass the diner where Alex and John met, because Alex wasn’t sure he could take that right now. Alex pointed out good places to grab food for when Burr was on his way out, and Burr just smiled complacently. The asshole probably had a plan already.

They pulled into the Washingtons’ driveway around noon, and Alex felt an unwilling smile tug at his face at the prospect of _home._ He spent so long focused on everything else that he could almost forget how much he missed his family.

Burr stopped the car and Alex took his time retrieving his suitcase from the trunk, just to admire the house from the outside. He felt a warm feeling bloom in his chest. He was just realizing how tired he was of hotel rooms and unfamiliar cities and take-out Chinese. He loved John, but he’d be damned if anything overtook his affection for the Washingtons.

The walk to the door felt longer than it really was, and his knuckles sounded dull on the heavy wood. He stood there, shifting his weight for an age that was really a minute, and then the door swung open, and Martha was standing in front of him. She looked just like she had the last time he saw her—black hair pulled into a loose bun, brown eyes shining—but infinitely better.

“Alexander!” she exclaimed, and it felt so, so, cliché, but she stepped out onto the porch and pulled him into a bone-crushing embrace, and he dropped his suitcase on the sidewalk in order to reciprocate.

“Hi,” he gasped, closing his eyes and burying his face in her shoulder. He’d forgotten how much he loved coming home.

She held him for another minute before releasing him and glancing over his shoulder. “And is that Aaron Burr?”

Alex glanced behind him. Burr waved from where he stood, next to his car.

“Come in, dear! We have lunch, if you haven’t eaten already.” Martha smiled warmly, and Alex was struck by just how little he appreciated her for what she was. He loved her so much.

Burr shook his head and held up a hand. “I’m sure your cooking would be magnificent, but I have to get home.” Martha looked about to protest further, and then Burr added, “And I’m sure you would like to speak to Alexander without my intrusion.”

Martha huffed a sigh. “You’re not wrong. Well, have a safe drive, then. I’m sure Alex pointed out cafés on the way in?”

Burr nodded. “It was nice to see you, as always, Mrs. Washington.”

Martha waved. “You, too, Aaron. You’re welcome anytime.”

Burr smiled. “Thank you.” He turned his gaze to Alex. “I’m hoping all of this works out, Alex. Let’s hope he deserves you, yeah?”

Alex opened his mouth and nothing came out. Of all the things for Burr to say, that was one Alex could never have predicted. So he said, “Thanks, Burr. I’ll… I’ll see you in August.”

Burr gave one last friendly smile to both Alex and Martha, then ducked back into his car. Alex watched him until he turned the corner and vanished from sight.

Martha turned to Alex, and tilted her head. “Is it just me, or are you two actually getting along?”

Alex cracked a grin. “It seems that the worst of times bring out the best in us.”

She laughed, then patted his shoulder. “Grab your bag and come inside, alright? George will be home in a bit.” Alex nodded, and Martha stepped back into the house. “We have a lot to talk about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'm so sorry for the wait! I hope you guys are still enjoying the story, and do remember that I take one-shot requests at my tumblr (@2000-bees-in-very-comfy-pajamas)! You can also just leave a request right here in the comments tbh. If you wanna see anything out of this universe after this fic is over, feel free to throw out suggestions! Thank you for reading and sticking around!


	17. “Charleston, South Carolina.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John talks to a new/old friend, finds the right direction, and everyone learns to be a little more okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my  
> i may have... miscalculated how long this took
> 
> Anyway, later in the chapter they listen to [West End Kids](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X3r70uYHBD4) and [15 Dreams](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bxZQ_Gc21SY) by New Politics. Those songs (and New Politics in general) fit the mood for a couple scenes here so just... please listen to my shitty alternative music it's important to me

It took John three days to make use of Hercules’ phone. He didn’t know why he was so nervous, because it wasn’t like he was contacting Alex or anything. He hadn’t made that decision. Not yet.

They were on the road in Missouri, John absently listening to the music that Laf had put on and counting the cars speeding by. He watched as a red Mustang passed them, and was jolted with sudden inspiration.

“Hey, Herc, can I send that text now?” he asked, leaning forward to tap Hercules’ shoulder.

“Hm? Oh, sure.” Hercules twisted to hand John his phone, looking curious. “Are you going to text Alex?”

John gave a miniscule smile and shook his head. “Just a friend.” He dug  _ Son of Neptune _ out of his bag and flipped to the bookmarked page, eyes ticking quickly across the name and number written there. He smiled again and put the number into Herc’s phone.

_ [12:44 PM] _

_ You: hey stranger, seems you left your number in my book _

John set the phone on the seat next to him, content. He wasn’t expecting to get a text back immediately, but he was pleasantly surprised when he heard a soft  _ ping! _

_ [12:45 PM] _

_ maria lewis: Damn, knew I misplaced it somewhere _

_ You: worry not, I’ll get it back to you as soon as possible _

_ You: how are the corn fields of mississippi treating you? _

_ maria lewis: Can’t say, I musta lost them somewhere in the tumbleweed-infested plains of east Texas _

_ You: completely plausible _

John was smiling wide, now. They both seemed so much more lighthearted than when they first met. He almost wanted to go find her in person. He wouldn’t put it past Lafayette and Hercules to drop everything and go to Texas if he asked, but he didn’t think it was quite necessary.

_ maria lewis: How is wherever you ended up doing for you? _

_ maria lewis: Still on the run? _

_ You: found some friends to run with, but yes _

_ You: and you? _

_ maria lewis: I think I’m… hiding now _

_ maria lewis: I’ve found myself an even smaller town than the one in Mississippi and I’m staying here for a bit _

_ You: it’s a start _

_ You: oh my god I almost forgot _

John huffed out a soft, surprised laugh and turned to rummage through his suitcase. Sure enough, right in the middle was the scarf from the old lady on the bus. He looked at it and thought of everything that had happened that day, thought of Maria. He thought of meeting Lafayette and Hercules, of thinking that there was no way to turn anything around, but at least he had people to get through it with.

_ You: as I was getting off the bus the old knitting lady gave me a scarf _

_ maria lewis: A token of your journey _

_ You: yeah I think so _

_ You: it gives me this weird sense of nostalgia for everything that’s happened? and it’s also a reminder for what’s yet to come _

_ maria lewis: A reminder that you can still stop running if you want? _

_ You: or that I can start running in the right direction _

John curled his fingers into the scarf, taking a moment to process its feeling, its meaning. He couldn’t put words to it—everything it made him feel—but it certainly was a token of his journey.

John glanced back to the phone screen.

_ maria lewis: The scarf of new beginnings and continued stories _

_ maria lewis: Like the proverbial semicolon _

_ You: I don’t think there’s such thing as a proverbial semicolon, but the sentiment is there _

John snorted. Hercules glanced back at him, eyebrow raised, but didn’t say anything. John flashed him a smile. He’d been doing that a lot today. Smiling.

_ maria lewis: Text me again once you’re headed in the right direction, John Laurens _

_ You: jury’s still out on which direction is the right one, Miss Lewis _

_ maria lewis: You’ll know it eventually _

_ maria lewis: Maybe it won’t be the first time it’s presented to you, but at some point, you’ll hear it, maybe for the millionth time, and you’ll think, that one. That’s the one I need. _

_ You: praying you’re right _

_ maria lewis: Trust me _

_ You: I met you like once on a bus _

_ maria lewis: And yet you texted me _

_ You: you’re not wrong _

_ maria lewis: Until next time, Laurens _

_ You: until then, Lewis _

John watched the screen a little longer, almost waiting for another text that he knew wouldn’t come, then handed the phone back to Hercules. Hercules took it with a quizzical look, and John’s faint, happy smile faltered.

“Who  _ was _ that?” Hercules asked.

“A… girl I met on a bus,” John answered slowly. He didn’t know if there was a wrong answer here.

Lafayette scoffed. “It is too late, he has moved on from Alex, this new girl has him hooked.”

And suddenly Hercules’ concern made sense. John waved his hands. “No! No, not—not Maria, I barely know her. And I’m gay. And we’ve talked for like five minutes in total, ever. We’re just…” He trailed off, not sure how to explain his predicament. “We were in the same place, when we met. And now… I think it’s just that we understand each other. It’s that we’re going through the same thing, or at least something similar enough that we can commiserate.”

Lafayette and Hercules shared a quick glance, and Lafayette met John’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “We are only teasing. I am glad that she is that… That she can be that person for you. Everyone is running from something, yes?”

John cracked a smile.  _ Everyone’s running from something, huh? Or somethings.  _ “Yeah.”

* * *

 

A couple days later, the three of them found themselves somewhere in Northern Minnesota, on a highway with maybe three other cars, headed to Duluth. John had been to Duluth once before, for a business trip that his dad had brought him and Martha along on.

He liked the bay, but he’d hated the feeling of seclusion from the rest of the world, at the time. He figured he’d like it more now, when he was allowed to be himself, with two people who he let himself call his… friends.

Hercules and Lafayette were as captivating as Alex, in a different, warmer way. He’d gotten so attached to Alex in such a short time, and exactly the same thing was happening with them, but the brand of friendship felt different. If anything, it felt more secure. There was no fear with them; Herc and Laf were Herc and Laf, and John was himself, unapologetically, and they got along.

“Roll down the window!” Lafayette’s voice snapped John back to the present. It sounded… off. Higher than normal.

“Why?” John asked, but he was already reaching for the window crank.

Lafayette let out a manic laugh, and said, “My hands won’t stop shaking!”

John stared for a moment, even as he rolled the window down. “Are you… okay?”

They shrugged, and smiled at him in the mirror, eyes glinting. They smiled like that a lot, and whether or not they were actually planning on inciting chaos, it always gave John the feeling that they were about to fuck shit up. This time, it was watery and a little hysterical, but John had a feeling they’d be fine. He’d noticed they hadn’t been smoking as much, and they hadn’t been buying extra cigarette packs at gas stations.

“Seriously, though!” he called, just to be sure.

“No, I am not,” they said, but their smile didn’t waver. “I am… getting better.” They nodded to themself.  _ “Essaye de faire.” _

As Hercules and Lafayette both rolled down their windows, and they flew down the freeway with the wind buffeting them, and John’s hair mussed beyond repair, Hercules looked elated.

John laughed when Lafayette waved at the cars they passed, and Hercules exasperatedly took the wheel when Lafayette decided to pull their entire torso out the window and stand half-outside the car.

When they finally sat back down, they didn’t take the wheel back, instead twisting to look at John and smiling. They looked a little crazed, but even more delighted, and their smile was infectious. “You are a college student, yes?”

John tilted his head. “Well, former college student at this point, but—”

“So a college student.” Lafayette pointed a finger at him. There was a tremor. “You must have rebellious teenage things which you want to do.”

John laughed. “When I was 15, sure, but at this point? I’m fine.”

“Nonsense,” they said dismissively. “You have to want  _ something.” _ When John just shrugged, amused, their expression shifted and they said, softly, “Please? I do not know how… safe I am to drive.” Their voice got softer as the sentence went on, and they avoided his eyes.

_ Oh. _ John racked his brain for a minute. He wasn’t sure how satisfying any of his teenage angst-fests would be, but eventually he settled on, “Can I have the aux cord?”

Lafayette tossed John their phone and the cord. Hercules met John’s eyes in the mirror and mouthed,  _ Thank you. _ John smiled grimly.

He searched through Lafayette’s music library, surprised to find that they had exactly what he was looking for. He grinned as he clicked the song, and they immediately started laughing as the sound began playing through the speakers. They turned the volume up, and John let himself sing along as the refrain came up.

_ “We are the kids that you never loved!” _ He and Laf made eye contact, and Hercules was trying not to look like he was humming along.  _ “We’re just some kids from the West End.” _

They screamed along as they tore down the highway, and as the next song came on, they kept going. Hercules joined in eventually, and they shouted at passing cars, at the sky, at the world.

John felt a lump rising in his throat, because the words were so true and he finally got to let everything out, like he’d wanted to for days, and it was with people he’d somehow found himself trusting. It felt like nostalgia for something he’d never had, and he didn’t realize he was crying until his voice broke mid-line. He kept singing, and neither Lafayette or Hercules noticed.

_ “Do you ever feel that life’s slipping out of your hands?!” _

And as they screamed their lungs out, John smiled, and laughed, and felt like sobbing, because how did he  _ find _ these two? They were fucking insane, and he wouldn’t have anyone else.

“Thank you so much!” he shouted, over the music.

“What?” Hercules shouted back.

John paused, watched Hercules and Lafayette, moving to the beat and to each other, completely and utterly perfect. “Thank you! So much!”

Hercules turned and gave him a broad grin. “All we did is drive you to Minnesota!”

“Yeah, I know!” John laughed again at the sheer ludicrousy of it, then jumped back into the song.

Eventually, they calmed down enough for John to reach up front and place a hand on Laf’s shoulder. “Really,” he said, as sincerely as he could with  _ We Are The Radio _ blasting in the background, “thank you. This means… so much to me.”

They paused a moment before turning back to him with a small, genuine smile.  _ “Je t’adore.” _

It was a peculiar way to reply, for them, for something so simple, but John just smiled back and said,  _ “Tu es absurde.” _

They immediately turned back to the steering wheel, laughed awkwardly, and mumbled, “You were not meant to know that.”

Hercules’ laugh rumbled throughout the car, John joined in, and soon they were all just laughing together as they whipped down the highway to New Politics. John felt so ridiculously young, so hilariously whole.

* * *

 

They were sitting just off the road, taking a quick break from driving. John and Hercules were sitting a little ways apart from each other while Lafayette sprawled across both of them, head in Hercules’ lap and feet in John’s. They were pointing out oddly shaped clouds while Hercules put tiny flowers in their hair, and it was horribly romantic, but John couldn’t find it in himself to spite them. They were adorable.

“You know,” John said, quietly, during a lull in the conversation. He didn’t look at the other two. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said.”

“About Alex?” Laf interjected. “And finding him?”

John chuckled, but it felt a little strained. He glanced at them. They’d sat up, and Hercules was resting his chin on their shoulder, both watching him. “Yes,” he said. “About finding him. I think…” He took a breath, “I think that I should. That I… want to.”

Lafayette clapped triumphantly, and Hercules smiled in a subdued kind of way. “That is wonderful!” Lafayette exclaimed. “Where to? New York?”

John laughed breathlessly and shoved their feet off of him. “No, I… I think there’s something I have to do, first.”

Lafayette raised an eyebrow.

John took a deep breath. Paused. Searched their faces. “I have to talk to my dad.”

Lafayette immediately dropped his gaze, while Hercules just shrugged. “’S reasonable.” He nodded to himself, then, “Just, making it clear, you’re not about to go ask him for like…  _ permission _ to do shit?”

John shuddered. “No. God, no.” He shrugged and managed to catch Lafayette’s eye again. “Everything that happened between Alex and I was influenced by what was happening with my dad. And… I don’t want to do that again. Alex doesn’t deserve to go through that again.”

Lafayette gave a miniscule nod, and Hercules made a noise of approval. He glanced at Lafayette, then, and his expression shifted, ever-so-slightly. John watched as Hercules took their hand, and they smiled, just a little. John couldn’t help feeling like he was intruding on something.

Hercules looked to John and asked, “So, where are we headed?”

John took a moment and nodded to himself, just for the extra measure of reassurance. “Charleston, South Carolina.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this took forever. I apologize for both that and the fact that it's pretty short, but it actually has to be one of my favorite chapters I've written so far. I have lots of feelings. Come say hi at my [tumblr](https://2000-bees-in-very-comfy-pajamas.tumblr.com/)! I take requests and everything.


	18. “Emotions don’t have a… a deadline. They just are.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex re-acclimates to his home, George and Martha worry, and Alex is awful at handling memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we near the end of the story, I'd like to, again, thank my beta for saving my life countless times with line editing. Love you, Betwixt. You're pretty okay sometimes.

At first, Alex and Martha just sat in silence. She put the kettle on, asked him if he wanted hot apple cider or tea. Alex tried to help her get the mugs and the tea bags out, but she wouldn’t have it, and he ended up sitting on the couch in the living room, alone, until she came out with a tray of tea and cookies.

Alex smiled faintly, thinking of the Washingtons’ odd tea time fixation. When he’d first started fostering with them, it had been jarring, that they loved this archaic little tradition. That he got to partake in it. That it was okay if he didn’t.

He accepted his mug with a soft “thank you” and curled up against the arm of the couch. Martha sat down across from him. They stayed there, just sipping their tea, Alex taking in the interior of his home. It struck him that it had only been a week or two at most since he’d left, and there hadn’t been all that much time for things to change. He felt so sharply out of place, so  _ new _ against this background of familiarity.

The Washingtons always decorated early for holidays: even though it was still early June, they had little American flags all over the place. There was one on the door, another tucked into the centerpiece on the dining room table. At least that much had changed.

It wasn’t long until the sound of a car pulling up in the driveway broke the silence. Martha caught Alex’s eye and smiled. “Hey, it’ll be okay,” she said, and winked. Alex mustered something like a smile in return.

The front door opened with a creak and George called out, “Martha, I’m home!”

Martha shot Alex a mischievous smile and sang, “I’ve got a surprise for you, dear!”

George’s chuckles were muffled through the wall. He poked his head into the room, already asking, “What could it possibly—oh.” His face cycled through a strange series of emotions before settling on a sympathetic stoicism that Alex could maybe deal with. “Alexander.”

“George.” Alex smiled. “Miss me?”

George’s expression broke and he laughed, like that was a stupid question. “Of course we did.” He sat on the couch next to Martha, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. Then he turned his attention back to Alex.

Alex dropped George’s gaze after a couple seconds, fixing his eyes to the bottom of his mug. He’d left the tea bag in as he drank it. “Guess we gotta talk about it,” he mumbled, after another second.

George hummed. There was another moment of silence before he said, in a gentle tone, “Henry Laurens shouldn’t be bothering you. I trust he hasn’t. After your call with his daughter and my talk with him…” George sighed, and Alex looked up to find him holding Martha’s hand, shaking his head and staring blankly at the coffee table. “He isn’t pleased.”

“He rarely is,” Martha cut in, squeezing George’s hand once, quickly. “That man is a cockroach, if I ever saw one.”

George huffed a laugh and nodded, meeting her eyes, then Alex’s. “He’s not happy, but he’ll have to deal with it, and he said he’d leave you alone.”

Alex allowed himself a long moment to just breathe. “Thank you.”

“Alex,” Martha said, suddenly, “please never feel like you can’t tell us something.” Alex just looked at her, trying to keep his expression blank. He could see where this was going, and he didn’t really feel like talking about John. At least Burr hadn’t asked that of him, after that first night. “I know that this sounds cliché,” Martha continued, “but just… With everything that’s happened recently with the Laurenses, it gets you thinking. I know it does. And the way I hear it, Henry Laurens is a…” She laughed good-naturedly, “A shit father.” Alex gave her a smile at that. At least she wasn’t asking about what he thought she would.

Martha’s eyebrows knit, and she sighed. “Alex, if you ever feel like you need to tell us something, please know that… that we’re safe. And we’re here. And… if we ever make you feel like Henry makes John feel—”

Alex just laughed. Martha raised a half-reprimanding, half-bemused eyebrow. “Martha,” Alex said, tone more serious than he’d intended, “I love you guys. So much more than you could imagine. You two are the nicest old people I know. You do  _ not _ have to worry.”

Martha looked unimpressed—“Never mind, get out, you don’t get to call us  _ old,” _ —but she was smiling.

“Alex,” George started this time, once they’d sobered a bit. “I know you probably aren’t keen on talking about this, but…” He let his sentence finish itself.

Alex heaved a sigh and nodded. “Alright.” He could do this. “What do you want to know?”

George and Martha were both silent, but an unspoken question hung heavy in the air over the coffee table. Quietly, Martha asked, “What now?”

Alex looked at his hands. One of his fingers was ink-stained. He thought of Burr, who’d tried so hard to be a good friend, after all those years. He knew it was mostly because of how careless he’d been acting. He also knew that he was far, far too afraid to act any different. “I’ll keep busy,” he said. “School, essays, you know.”

Neither Martha nor George seemed pleased with that answer. “Alex,” Martha started, and trailed off.

George shot her a sympathetic look and glanced back to Alex. “What we mean is… in regards to John.”

Alex just shrugged, and tried not to meet their eyes. Maybe this way they wouldn’t be able to tell how much he hated lying to them. “I can’t do anything about it, but I’ll be fine. As I said, I’ll keep busy. It’s… It was just a couple weeks, yeah?” He paused, and the silence was full of skepticism. Alex finally looked up at George, and a ghost of a smile passed over his lips. “If all else fails, all I can do is wait for him.”

George seemed to relax a little bit at that, some of the tension melting away from his shoulders. He still didn’t look happy, but apparently Alex’s answer was sufficient. He nodded and shared a glance with Martha before standing up.

“You probably want to unpack your things, right? We’ll leave you alone for a while.” George gave a quick, phony smile. At least the intention was good.

Alex nodded and waited for them to leave the room before stirring. He stood slowly and shuffled stiffly across the carpet. It was still such a weird, comforting feeling to be home.

He hauled his bag upstairs to his room, pausing before opening the door. It was so, so strange. It felt like years had elapsed in the span of two weeks and yet…

When he opened the door, his room was perfectly untouched. It was exactly the same as when he’d left it—his desk chair was still knocked over from when he’d jostled it in his haste to start the trip. He remembered packing, in a vague, detached way. Everything had been so kind then. He’d already known the shit John was going through, of course, but it had been all easy smiles and 2 AM conversations and the thrill of discovering  _ John. _

Alex righted the desk chair and closed the door behind himself before setting his suitcase down on the floor. He glanced around the room once more before unzipping his bag and flipping it open.

His belongings were still a mess; he hadn’t bothered to tidy anything up while staying with Burr. His clothes weren’t folded, and the books he’d brought with were strewn about randomly.

He sorted clothes into piles, books got tossed in the general direction of the desk, and hair shit and toiletries sailed over his shoulder. It went smoothly until he came across a familiar red shirt. He let out a sharp sigh, trying to fight the lump in his throat, the mist in his eyes. He was so, so tired of this. He thought of long, drunken nights, John sprawled across him, trying to focus on dinner menus when everything was just  _ John, John, John… _

Alex smiled to himself and hoped that the shirt would be incentive enough for John to come looking for him.

Alex ran the clothes through the wash and hung the shirt up in his closet. He placed the  _ Percy Jackson _ books on the bookshelf and left  _ Battle of the Labyrinth _ out on his desk. He put the toiletries back where they belonged, shook the leftover socks and papers from the suitcase, and hefted it up on the top shelf of his closet. He looked at his room. It was like those two weeks never happened.

He sat down heavily on his bed, closing his eyes and taking a moment to process. The familiar scent of his room, of his home, of the scented candles that he lit sometimes, even though they gave him headaches; it was reassuring, a sort of proof of reality.

His phone buzzed with an email, breaking him out of his daze. As he was checking it, he remembered a day not so long ago, filled with John and trees and stupid pictures. They were probably still on his phone. Neither would’ve deleted them.

Alex hesitated for a moment, and then set his phone to the side. He ignored the tug in his chest, pulled out his laptop, and sat down at his desk. He still had a lot to work on.

He hadn’t turned any lights on, so as the sun set, Alex could feel his eyes straining. He’d actually gotten somewhere with his thesis, though, so he kept going, not bothering to look away from the computer screen until someone knocked on his door.

He blinked, rubbed his eyes quickly, and stood up. He opened the door to find Martha. She looked concerned, or sad, but as soon as she spotted him, it slipped away, revealing a warm smile in its place.

“Hey, honey,” she said, peering past him into his room. “You’ve gotten everything put away already?”

Alex shrugged. “Didn’t have anything better to do.”

Martha paused, her smile faltering. “George always takes weeks to unpack when he gets home from business trips,” she said, but it was quiet. More solemn than she probably intended. “I always tell him to deal with it right away, but he always puts it off.”

Alex blinked. He didn’t know what to say into the heavy atmosphere, so he just stood and waited for her to continue.

“It always clutters up our room, but he deals with it eventually.” Martha sighed, smiled that kind, comforting smile again. “Anyways. Dinner’s on the table, if you want it.” She narrowed her eyes. “And even if you don’t, it’s been weeks since you’ve had a home-cooked meal. Come on down.”

Alex returned her smile at that. “Sure thing. Let me save my thesis, I’ll be down in a few.”

Martha nodded and turned away as Alex shut the door.

He blew out a long breath once he was alone. A home-cooked meal sounded heavenly, but his appetite had all but vanished. There was something about the look in Martha’s eyes: sorrow and not-quite-pity. Like she wanted to  _ fix _ him, but didn’t know how. Alex loved her more than he could ever say, but all he wanted right now was to be alone. To be left alone.

Still, he couldn’t let her down, so he changed into a nicer sweater and descended the stairs. He found George setting the table in the dining room as Martha pulled a bread pan out of the oven in the kitchen, calling to each other about silverware placement. Alex smiled quickly at Martha and grabbed a bowl of salad to bring out to the dining room.

George looked up at him and seemed to pause, looking a little troubled. Alex felt a pang of annoyance at having to deal with this from both his parents, and then immediately felt awful for it. He decided right then that he needed approximately 36 hours of sleep.

“It’s good to have you back,” George said. Alex nodded and set down the salad. As he was turning to leave, George continued, softer, “Thank you for coming back to us.”

Alex glanced back to find George watching him, eyes shining with something genuinely grateful. “I wouldn’t dream of staying away,” Alex said. He and George shared a quick smile before Alex turned and headed back into the kitchen.

They ate dinner, Martha’s cooking amazing as always, and both George and Martha kept the conversation off of John. Alex was endlessly thankful, and as he helped Martha scrub out dishes afterwards, he felt lighter than he had in a long while.

Just before the three of them headed off to bed, Alex stopped both his parents to pull them into a group hug. They enthusiastically, if bemusedly, hugged him back.

“Thank you,” he whispered into the embrace.

Neither of them responded, but Martha held him a little tighter, and it was almost enough to bring tears to his eyes.

* * *

 

The next morning, Alex rose before the sun. There was something about being back in his room that made it impossible to sleep in past seven in the morning, and today, for some reason, he was up before six.

He sat on the edge of his bed for a long time, not moving, just staring into the lingering dawn darkness. His eyes were still crusty from sleep, but he didn’t lift a hand to rub them. He could feel a yawn building in his throat, but he pushed it down, and stared senselessly at the wall.

On impulse, Alex stood up abruptly and grabbed his phone from his nightstand before sitting down at his desk chair.

He stared at his lockscreen—an illustration of a poem he liked—and sighed, long and heavy. He had to deal with this sometime, and he’d never exactly been one to avoid issues. Well, until it came to John, but that was different and this was something he could confront  _ now. _

The photos.

The first one was from the day in Ohio with the cave. It was a picture of him, glaring at the camera. The next one was the picture of him and John, kissing under a waterfall. John’s eyes were closed as he took the picture so it was a little blurry, but Alex thought it captured everything perfectly. He closed his eyes and put the phone down for a moment. He took a deep breath, pushed away the ache in his chest, and looked back at the picture. His thumb hovered over  _ delete, _ but like all things relating to John, he couldn’t bear to get rid of it. So he swiped to the next picture and tried to ignore the heaviness in his heart.

There were some more of him avoiding the camera, and then it switched to pictures of John, surrounded by nature, their joined hands visible at the bottom of the frame. Alex smiled at these. He remembered taking them, remembered that day with a halcyon filter, calm and euphoric, like it was something beautiful. (Which it was.)

The next few were of the sunset, with a hint of John’s hair in the corner. The sun shot lense flares across the photo, tinged his hair gold, gave the whole thing a sense of nostalgia. Then it switched to pictures from Boston, and then Portland. Pictures of the harbor where they ate with Alex in the foreground, framed like he was the most important thing. Pictures of memorials and shy smiles and the way John looked when he laughed, when he frowned.

Alex scrolled through all of them once, twice, again, and then he closed his phone and put it face-down on his desk. He felt empty and full and hopeful and shattered, all together in an unparsable amalgam of  _ emotion. _

His eyes were misty when he rubbed at them, but he didn’t cry. The feelings didn’t go away as he hopped in the shower, threw on clothes, and checked his Twitter. After brushing his hair and deeming it good enough, he went downstairs to find breakfast.

No one else was up that early, so no lights were lit. Instead of switching them on, Alex just sort of fumbled around in the half-dark on his way to the kitchen, bumping into various pieces of furniture.

The kitchen looked gray and cold in the bleak morning light—the kind only seen in those few minutes after the night is done and before the sun has begun to rise in earnest. It washed out the marble countertops, making them appear foreign and ghostly. Alex caught himself staring and grabbed a box of cereal from the cupboards. He scoffed a little when he saw the boxes—ten years, and the Washingtons still hadn’t stopped buying that shitty off-brand stuff, for the sake of saving money. Part of him wanted to commend them for their resourcefulness, but part of him was just disgusted.

He was eating when George came downstairs, still in pajamas. George flicked the lights on, blinking in surprise when he saw Alex already at the counter. He made his way casually to the fridge, reaching in for an apple.

“You’re up early,” he said, glancing at Alex.

Alex shrugged. “I was thinking about… going out.”

George raised an eyebrow as he sat in the chair across from Alex. “Alright. Out where?”

Alex hummed uncertainly. “Just out.” He thought of the pictures. “The park, maybe? Or the diner?”

“If you’re willing to wait up for Martha, we’d love to come with,” George offered, flashing a grin.

Alex curled in on himself a little. He loved being home, but it was still so strange. He’d honestly rather do this alone, but he wasn’t quite sure how to tell George that. “I was actually hoping to get work done on this essay,” he said quickly. “I think getting out somewhere would be nice.”

He waited for George’s smile, his nod, his, “Yeah, you do need to get that done, that’s good,” but instead his dad just looked uneasy. “Just don’t put too much stress on yourself,” was what he said. “You’re going through a lot.”

Alex nodded and studied George’s face for a few seconds before looking down at his half-empty cereal bowl. “I just feel so ridiculous,” he blurted suddenly. George looked at him sharply, surprised. “I pushed Burr away and I’m upsetting you and you’re all being so… so gentle, and taking this so seriously, but for Christ’s sake, it’s all about a guy who I knew for two weeks!” Alex realized his breathing had grown ragged, and there was a buzzing in his ears.

George was quiet, but he reached out and put a hand on Alex’s wrist. Alex felt a manic sort of energy crackling underneath his skin, a kind that hadn’t been there seconds prior. They both startled at the small cough from the doorway, Alex nearly jumping out of his seat.

Martha leaned against the frame, arms crossed, frowning slightly. “Alex,” she began, and her voice was beautifully delicate. “Emotions don’t have a… a  _ deadline. _ They just are.” She crossed the kitchen and pulled one of the chairs around to sit at the end of the counter. “So you only spent a week with him. You care about him, and it’s obviously still affecting you. If you don’t…” Looking troubled, she glanced away, then back at him. “We’re being nice because you’re hurting, and we just want you to be okay. If that means finding him, or helping you move on, or giving you space…” She finally smiled, but it was weary and serious. “Whatever that means for you, we’re only here to help.”

Alex swallowed, blinked, realized that he might be tearing up. “Thank you,” he managed in a hoarse whisper. He didn’t want to cry in front of them, because he was too tired to deal with them hugging him and having a long talk and everything that came with that, so he stood up. He moved robotically, dumping out his leftover cereal, putting his bowl in the dishwasher, and turning to march up the stairs.

Everything was just so much, and he didn’t know how to handle it, so he buried himself in his sheets and opened  _ Battle of the Labyrinth _ and spent a while thinking about John. The more he thought about it, the less obviously painful it was. He still felt a sort of tug, a  _ longing, _ but he found that if he just kept reading, he could ignore it, for the most part.

He finished  _ Battle of the Labyrinth _ and  _ The Last Olympian _ by noon. As he closed the last book in the series, he let himself sink further into the mattress, breathing out a long sigh. He felt a little better and a little more empty at the same time, but more importantly, he felt ready to get work done.

Alex called a quick farewell to George and Martha as he left the house, messenger bag and wallet in hand. If he was gonna go anywhere, he might as well go somewhere familiar, so almost on autopilot his feet guided him to the diner.

He paused at the entrance, staring at the spot where, only weeks before, he’d stood with John. Where they’d met. Where everything, absolutely everything, had started.

He shook himself and went inside, sitting down at his regular table. He didn’t imagine John sitting across from him, didn’t think about a shouting match and then a much more amiable conversation over coffee.

Even though it was nearing one in the afternoon, Alex ordered coffee, and he got to work.

He’d done enough thinking, he figured. John was a bittersweet memory who, in all likelihood, he’d never see again. The least he could do was get trivial stresses over school out of the way.

He  _ wanted _ to, at least. He really, really did, but then the door opened and there was the tinny sound of the bell, and Alex couldn’t help but look up and search, like John would ever come back there. Like John would go back for  _ him. _ He breathed out harshly when he saw that it was just some girl. Alex might’ve known her name, had his brain not been short-circuiting.

He stared at the door for a few more moments, an uneasy feeling rising in his chest, before dropping a five on the table and closing his laptop. He had to get out of there. He couldn’t… He couldn’t.

He shoved his laptop into his bag and left quickly, clipping a nearby table on his way out. He didn’t touch his coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, guys. Next chapter is the behemoth. It's about twice the length of a normal chapter, and part of it feels a little jarring to me, but keep in mind that this is definitely a rough draft. As I've mentioned a few times, we're nearing the end of the story, and the next chapter is the last real installment. So, prepare yourselves. And remember, always: I am open to constructive criticism and if you don't like an aspect of the story, feel free to tell me! I'm leaving this here as a reminder before next chapter... you'll see why.


	19. “Go find him. I… I’m… sorry.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John sorts a couple things out, goes to his childhood home, then finds his real home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the previous chapter's end notes. That said, I really hope you enjoy this! I, personally, feel really good and happy about it. I love these nerds. I'm happy I got to make them happy. It's been a journey that I will gush about later, but for now: thank you. Just know I could never have done this without you. Welcome to the end.
> 
> Also, you will note that this work is now part of a series! There is a sort of companion piece to this chapter that I've put there, that explores Laf and Herc's point of view upon meeting John. I'd really appreciate it if you checked it out. As fair warning, I will be posting a lot of one-shots in this universe, and a good number of them will be poly-ship-focused. If that's not your thing, I get it, but it's something I enjoy writing. So, I hope you enjoy, but if you don't, don't worry about it.
> 
> Again, I love you guys. You're the best. Thank you.

Before going anywhere, John asked for Hercules’ phone. Hercules paused for a moment before smiling knowingly and handing it to him.

_[3:46 PM]_

_You: you know, I think I found the right direction_

_maria lewis: And?_

_You: I’m gonna follow it_

_maria lewis: Good luck, Laurens. You got this._

_You: well… we’ll see. Hopefully._

_maria lewis: I think you mean definitely._

* * *

 

It was a 20 hour drive from Duluth to Charleston, so John had every available opportunity to think about how bad of an idea this was. His dad could hate him, or not let him see his siblings, or shoot him like he’d promised… And even if he got his dad’s blessing, Burr would probably strangle him on sight, or George Washington would, or Alex, for that matter. Well, that was unrealistic, but Alex would _not_ be pleased to see him. Probably.

Every time John opened his mouth to voice his worries to the van at large, Lafayette would interrupt, “Are you going to tell us to turn around?” and John would close his mouth again. Lafayette sat through the whole ride with a self-satisfied smirk that John couldn’t really fault them for.

The view out the window got boring pretty quickly, so they ended up playing an odd version of I Spy where Lafayette would say something in French and Hercules would try to figure out what it was, while John sat by with a smile and laughed as their observations got more and more obscure. It was entertaining and mindless and, frankly, very nice. John appreciated it, even if they weren’t doing it specifically for him.

After seven straight hours of driving, they stopped at a hotel somewhere in the suburbs of Chicago. Hercules went inside to book their room, leaving Lafayette and John to unpack all their stuff. Lafayette was humming some song that had been playing on the radio, and John briefly considered asking them to sing a duet sometime.

Lafayette paused after setting down their suitcase, falling silent and watching as John dragged his own out of the back. John stood back, glancing at them.

They stared at him a few moments more, narrowing their eyes in scrutiny, before dropping his gaze, grabbing Hercules’ suitcase, and setting off towards the hotel. John raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry, what was that about?” he asked, hurrying after them.

 _“Ne t’en fais pas pour ça,”_ they muttered. Before John could press further, they called out a greeting to Hercules, who had just exited the building, and the trio set about finding their room.

The hotel didn’t exactly have suites—it was too cheap—so they’d settled for two beds with an attached bathroom. John tossed his stuff down on the floor at the foot of his bed, then flopped down onto it. It was late and he was tired, but…

He kept thinking about that moment from earlier, Lafayette’s quiet, _“Je t’adore.”_ Sure, he’d written it off at the time, but now it just wouldn’t leave him alone. It just wasn’t… something he had been expecting them to say, and he couldn’t stop remembering it. Plus, he figured he had twelve hours left on the road to worry about his dad and Alex—he could spare this moment for Lafayette.

He didn’t want to make assumptions, and he didn’t want to offend them, somehow, but it had seemed so out of place. Or, well, it hadn’t, for some reason. It seemed perfect at the time, but looking back on it, it was just odd. And he intended to get Lafayette to tell him why.

So far, they’d been more open when Hercules was around to back them up, but John wasn’t sure that would be the case here. So he stood up, stretched, and said, casually as he could, “I think I forgot my book in the car. Hey, Laf, will you come with me to get it?”

There was a moment’s hesitation before they shrugged and smiled. “Of course.”

The walk down the hallway was fraught with tense silence until they reached the parking lot, whereupon Lafayette turned to John and said bluntly, “You did not forget your book, did you.” A statement, not a question.

John shrugged. They’d stopped walking, still on the sidewalk, near the vending machines out front. “No.” There was a moment of quiet, and John got the feeling Lafayette knew exactly what he wanted to ask. No sense in avoiding the question, then. _“Je t’adore?”_ he asked, after another few moments’ hesitation.

Lafayette nodded to themself once, decisively, shot a glance up to the sky, then sighed. They raised a hand, as if to scrub at their eyes, then seemed to remember they were wearing makeup. They didn’t meet John’s eyes, but he could see theirs were misty. “I’m sorry,” they said, softly.

“Don’t be,” John replied. So he’d been right. He’d figure out how he felt about it at a later date, when everything wasn’t so pressing, so jumbled.

“I did not mean to develop…” Lafayette waved their hand, _“feelings_ for you. I am… I know that this makes things harder. It comp… compre— comple—”

“Complicates?” John offered. He felt a little condescending, but they just nodded.

“Yes, complicates things.” They still wouldn’t meet his gaze. They ran a hand through their hair in lieu of rubbing their eyes. “When we first picked you up, I—we agreed…” They looked at him helplessly, then continued, rapid-fire, _“Nous avons été d'accord que... tu devrais choisir toi-même, après tu décides que faire à propros de Alex._ I suppose I already—eh—fucked things up.”

John blew out a breath. He’d had too many people confessing their feelings for him in the past week. He really wasn’t that good at handling these things. His mouth tended to run away with him, he overthought, and he ended up screwing both participants over. “Don’t—” he started, then stopped. What was he even going to say? Taking a deep breath, he tried again, “Don’t assume… that finding Alex is an ending.” Oh, that. Interesting.

“You do not need to—it is—let me down nicely.” Lafayette crossed their arms, trying their best to look their part: uncaring, unbothered. To their credit, they might’ve fooled anyone who wasn’t John or Hercules.

“I’m not—” John tried, but for God’s sake, what _was_ he doing? Did he like them? What about Alex? _Was_ he just trying to be nice? Why was his heart fluttering so damn much? Why was this so _hard?_ He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to collect his thoughts, but there was just so _much—_ “Can you give me time? To think?” John cracked one eye open.

To his surprise, Lafayette was smiling. “Of course,” they said, their tone not matching their expression. “You have much more to worry about.”

John nodded. His chest felt weird, like it was going to burst or implode, and it hadn’t decided which yet. “Thank you. I just… Yeah.” He started back towards the entrance, but they didn’t follow. He stopped.

Lafayette waved him onwards. “Go on, I will be a moment.”

John narrowed his eyes at them, the way they fidgeted with the zipper on one of their pockets, the way their fingers trembled. He sighed. “Come inside, asshole. Don’t make me worry about you any more than I already am.” He marched back, grabbed their hand, and tugged them after him.

Lafayette laughed once, surprised, but followed him back to the room, dropping his hand before he opened the door. John felt a twinge of distress at the loss of contact, and had to stop himself from taking their hand again.

Yeah, John _really_ had to figure out how he felt about all of this.

* * *

 

They decided to brave the last 12 hours the next day, so they woke up early and set out.

John’s leg bounced nervously as he tried to focus on _House of Hades_ (he’d finished _Mark of Athena_ a couple days ago), to no avail. He couldn’t think over the roaring of his thoughts, over the idea of going _back._ At one point, Hercules twisted around in his seat and said, “John, are you gonna have a panic attack?”

John hadn’t realized how short his breathing had become. He took a few deep breaths before shaking his head weakly. “I hope not. I’m just… fucking terrified.”

Lafayette snorted and Hercules elbowed them. “We’ll be there with you through all of it, unless you ask us to stay in the car,” Hercules assured him. “No matter what happens, you’ve got us, and at this point we probably wouldn’t mind adopting you forever. Plus, if this thing with your dad goes as badly as you’re probably imagining, rest assured that Alex will react way better.”

John chuckled morbidly. “If meeting my dad goes as badly as I’m imagining, I won’t make it to tomorrow.”

Hercules paused at that, expression shifting from reassuring to confused to concerned. He pursed his lips. “Your dad’s not…” he trailed off, “is he?”

John shook his head quickly. “Not physically, no.” He huffed a dry laugh. “He uh… he threatened me with a shotgun when he kicked me out.” At Hercules’ expression, he smiled bitterly. “Not like, actually pointing the gun at me or anything. But he was all, _‘Jack, if I ever see your face here again, I’ll get the shotgun,’_ and uh… Yeah.”

Hercules didn’t look any less horrified or, frankly, murderous. He opened his mouth a few times, but seemed to be at an absolute loss. John wished he could save him from the weird silence, but he didn’t have anything to say either. Finally, Hercules muttered, “I’m coming in with you. I don’t care what you say. No way in hell am I letting you deal with this shit alone.”

“No, it’s—” John stopped, realizing how grateful he actually was for that. He’d never had a friend who was willing to put themself in the line of fire for him. It set off something soft and glowing in his chest, a happy sort of thankfulness. “I… thank you.”

Hercules nodded darkly, turning back to face the front. “If he tries _anything,_ I’ll fucking kill him.”

Lafayette stiffened a little bit, and John glanced between the two of them curiously. Hercules looked like a hulking mass of fury, while Lafayette looked like they’d pull him into a hug if they weren’t preoccupied. It was quite the role-reversal from when he’d first met them, but not a surprising one. John felt light and glad, a warmth spreading from his chest into his arms and down to his feet.

* * *

 

The familiar streets of Charleston came into view as the sun was setting, dousing the buildings in fiery red-orange. The knot in John’s stomach grew with every street sign they passed, and the more he tried to breathe through it, the tighter it seemed to wind itself. By the time they were a few minutes away, he felt about ready to throw up.

“It is left here?” Lafayette asked, as they approached the street John grew up on.

“Yeah,” he replied shakily, his breath hitching ever-so-slightly. Inhaling was getting harder and harder, and it felt like any air he managed to capture disappeared immediately from his lungs.

A moment later, Hercules was climbing over the back of his and Laf’s seats and settling next to John. “You okay, kid?”

John blinked, nodded uncertainly, and said faintly, “I—yeah. Yeah. I’m—this is fine. I’m fine.”

Hercules chuckled and gently took hold of John’s shoulders, turning to face him. “Do you have breathing exercises?”

John had to process the question for a second, but at length he nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I—” He held his breath for a moment, listened to his pounding heartbeat. Naturally, he’d be out of breath. Okay. In for four, out for four. His heart pounded, he breathed, it calmed, he calmed. He was going to be fine.

When he opened his eyes again, Hercules was studying him, a small smile quirking his lips. John returned it, nodding once, more surely. “You good?” Hercules asked.

“I’m good.” John let himself focus on Hercules’ hands on his shoulders, on the motion of the car as it crept along the road, Lafayette waiting for John’s directions. He could do this. It was going to work out. He was going to be okay.

Hercules let go of him then, and they both sat back, and John gave his address. As his house came into view, he pointed to it: “There, the big one with too much fake stonework.”

Lafayette snorted as they parked the van on the street in front of the house. Looking up at it, there were no cars in the massive driveway and the garage door was closed. There was a moment of strained silence, and then Lafayette turned to look at him. “Are you ready?”

John shook his head vehemently. “God, no.” He took a deep breath. “But I have to do this.”

“Do you want both of us to come with you?” Hercules asked from beside him.

John smiled, feeling that warmth from earlier, but shook his head. “We need our getaway driver, don’t we?”

Lafayette smiled at him, and Hercules nodded. The three of them basked in the moment, just taking in each others’ presences, and if only for a second, even when faced with the huge, daunting task before him, John felt safe. He nodded once more, then opened the door and stepped out of the van, Hercules on his heels.

The house was pretty but unremarkable, save for its size and manicured lawn. Nothing about it screamed, _“Doom! Doom! Fire and misery!”_ and John suddenly felt very silly. The fear wouldn’t leave him, but it felt small in comparison to this house, to the lives lived here.

They climbed the front porch steps and came to a halt at the door. John stared at the welcome mat, the eagle knocker, the light scratches on the oaken door, all not-so-distant memories of his childhood, of his entire _life._

He traded a single glance with Hercules, wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts, and rang the doorbell.

It was a few seconds before they heard the sound of footsteps, and then the doorknob began to turn, and John’s stomach clenched and he was going to throw up and a million thoughts flew through his mind—

And then he was looking into the eyes of his little sister, and all the thoughts vanished from his head because in the next heartbeat he had an armful of Martha. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, laughing into her shoulder.

“Oh my _God,”_ she whispered fiercely, “you’re okay. You’re okay. Oh my God.”

“Yeah,” John murmured, stroking her hair. “I missed you, too.”

Martha laughed when they pulled apart, shoving at him a little. “You know, when I told you to ditch your phone, I fully expected you to commandeer another one and text me.”

“Are you, my very own little sister, telling me you wanted me to _thieve_ from the needy?”

Martha just shrugged, and John shook his head in mock disappointment.

Then Martha’s gaze shifted to Hercules, still standing next to him. She narrowed her eyes. “And you are?”

“Hercules Mulligan,” he said warmly, offering a hand.

Martha shook it, still inspecting him, as though looking for any flaws, before nodding to herself. “Nice to meet you. I trust you’ve been looking after my brother?”

Hercules considered, then grinned cheekily. “Trying. He really makes it a challenge, sometimes.”

“Tell me about it.”

Martha smiled then, happily, like she’d been waiting for this. John felt himself returning it, and this was so much better than anything he could have anticipated. Martha frowned, though, when she asked, “You didn’t come back just to see me, though, did you?”

John dropped her gaze and shook his head. “I need to talk to Dad.”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s been less a dad and more a dictator lately.”

John pursed his lips guiltily. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Martha offered another smile, then stepped back into the house and opened the door for them. “C’mon, he’s in his _study.”_ She did half-hearted little jazz hands, and John chuckled incredulously.

He glanced to Hercules, who smiled, but the expression was overshadowed by an air of wariness. John stepped into his childhood home feeling vulnerable.

There was a blanket of muted gloom about the house that thickened the air and made every noise echo. John felt the dread hang heavy on his shoulders as they climbed the stairs and neared Henry’s study, the ornate mahogany doors adding a dark, looming feeling to the hallway. Martha stopped in front of the door and paused for a breath before knocking.

“Dad?”

There came the sound of rustling papers, and then, “Yes, Martha?”

Martha pushed the door open and stepped just inside the threshold, blocking Henry from John’s view. From what he could see, the study was dim and messy, books and papers strewn about the floor. It wasn’t like Henry to let the clutter add up, John thought. “Dad, he just got here, so don’t like… immediately try to kill each other, okay?”

Henry’s voice was full of confusion and a hint of irritation as he asked, “What are you on about?”

Martha paused a second longer before stepping into the room and pushing the door open, motioning for John and Hercules to follow her.

John’s first thought: _He looks tired._

His second: _Oh God, I’m going to die._

Henry was sitting at his desk, a pen in hand, hovering over an important-looking form. His expression shifted upon catching sight of John, cycling through a lightning quick and indescribable series of emotions before settling on an unreadable mask. The one he used when he was angry. John wanted to make himself as small as possible, wanted to sink into the floor. He fidgeted with his hands, but he didn’t move.

“Hi, Henry,” he said.

“Jack,” his dad replied. It felt exactly like the first phone call, and then John was thinking of Alex, and he felt… something akin to strength. Courage.

John met his dad’s gaze evenly. “We need to talk.”

“Certainly.” Henry pursed his lips. “Let’s start with how you up and left for three weeks with no explanation or communication, shall we?” His voice was ice-cold and everything John had once been terrified of. “I had to get your vaguest whereabouts from George Washington, by the way, who I am _not_ fond of, because you ran off with his boy.”

John’s stomach sank. His breathing felt unsteady, and he had to swallow before saying, “You threatened me. With a shotgun. I figured I wouldn’t be welcome home, you know, after that.” His voice did not tremble despite his dry throat and pounding heart and shaking hands. “And I haven’t really met Washington, but Alex is one of the best people I know. Leave him out of this.”

Henry stood up, looking indignant. “That boy can’t be trusted. You weren’t _safe_ with him. You barely knew him!” A pause, and John just glared at him. Henry continued, “And I wasn’t thinking clearly. Of course I’d never attack my own son.”

John scoffed, rolling his eyes as an excuse to look away, to see Hercules next to him, looking like an offended cat. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Well, God, sorry if I wasn’t so sure. It’s not like you’ve ever tried to communicate that. I guess if I hadn’t felt threatened my whole life, I might’ve been a bit more skeptical!” He clenched his still-shaking fist, trying to lower the volume of his rising voice. “As it was, I really wouldn’t’ve put it past you!” _Dammit._

Henry stared at him for a long time, an imposing silence falling between them. John held his gaze despite the creeping feeling on his neck and his quickly stiffening back. Finally, Henry, chin held high, said, “Good.”

John’s mouth parted in surprise, and he took a step back. “I’m sorry?”

“A son should respect his father,” Henry said simply.

John’s laugh was high and incredulous. “You’re kidding. You have _got_ to be kidding.” Next to him, Hercules looked absolutely homicidal. He felt something in him boiling, knotting, dark and angry. “Dad, that is fucked up. How low are you willing to stoop just so you won’t have to admit you were wrong?”

Martha, who had edged out of the way and sort of hid herself behind Hercules, stepped forward then to touch his arm. “John…” her eyes were pleading and scared.

John didn’t look at her. He didn’t want to lose this bravery, this new blind-eyed fury. “Is _that_ how you’ve been raising us? Making excuses just so you won’t look—what—weak? It’s bullshit.” He shook his head. “I… God, I came back so that we could talk this out, but that’s just not—Jesus!”

“Jack, watch your mouth,” Henry snapped harshly. “You’re being ridiculous, you will not disrespect me in my house.”

And suddenly, John felt the rage drain from him, replaced with something that felt so young, so childish. He felt scared and raw and empty and like he was fifteen again, like he was afraid his dad would hit him, or kick him out, or anything that he _hadn’t_ already done.

“I raised you to respect your elders, and to be successful. That much you should be thanking me for.” Henry looked like he would be sneering, if he wasn’t too dignified for that.

John was struggling for a response that wasn’t _I’m sorry I’ll just go,_ when he felt a hand on his shoulder, turning him to meet Hercules’ firm gaze. There was something there—a solidarity, a kindness. A strength. John gave a small nod, then turned back to his dad. He was going to be fine. And if he wasn’t, his friends would be there for him. “You hardly raised me,” he said, voice filled with a chill he felt in his bones. He uncurled his fists, took a moment to breathe, and continued, “I raised myself, and my siblings, after you taught me to be afraid of you and of asking for help.”

Henry sat back down in an abrupt, graceful way, picking up his pen again and turning back to his forms. “If you’re only here to hurl insults, you can leave. I trust you still know where the door is.”

John bit his lip, fought back a _fine, then,_ and a slammed door, and inched forward, resting his hand on his dad’s desk. “I didn’t… that’s not why I came.”

Henry hummed disinterestedly, and John wanted to walk out right then. Instead, he ventured quietly, “I’m gonna go find Alex, after this. You can’t… you can’t stop me from doing that. I… I think I love him.” Henry’s hand stilled. “And I know you don’t like that, but… I just… I can’t change? And you’re still my dad. No matter what, you’re still my parent, and I can’t change that either and…” John sighed, blinked rapidly. He couldn’t believe he was tearing up. This wasn’t fair. He _hated_ this. “I’m not asking you to forgive me for being gay, or for leaving, because… I don’t think I should have to. But I’m asking for you to try and understand what this looks like for me. And maybe just understand me in general.”

Henry folded his hands and looked up at John, his eyes hard but… softening. Just slightly. They were both silent for a few seconds, and then Henry said, so quiet that it didn’t sound like him, “You love him?”

John barely hesitated before answering, “Yeah. He’s… yeah. I don’t know where I would be now without having met him. I don’t want to… I don’t think it would’ve been a good place.”

His dad closed his eyes, bowed his head, and when he looked back up his gaze was almost… gentle. “Go find him. I…” Henry Laurens trailed off, wordless. A frown twisted his mouth. After another few moments, he just nodded.

John felt himself smile, and it was a strange, anomalous sensation, after everything. He was really tearing up now, so he just nodded again and turned to leave.

“Jack,” his dad said, just before he closed the door. John stopped and turned. “Come home if you want.” Another long pause. “I’m… sorry.”

John’s smile grew until he felt like it would split his face in half. “Thank you.”

* * *

 

Martha heaved the study’s doors closed and turned to him. “You’re really leaving so soon?”

John shrugged and glanced down the hallway. “You know I wouldn’t leave without saying hi to the little ones.”

She grinned then, and led Hercules and him along the hallway and downstairs, towards the living room. It emanated the sounds of a first person shooter meshed garishly with a pop song. It was a fun little contrast, and it made him miss home so much more than ever before.

Martha called ahead into the room, before they reached it, “Henry! Mars Bars! I’ve got a surprise for you!”

The melodic sound of Carly Rae Jepsen died down immediately, and Henry called back, “If it’s another _Shrek: The Musical_ CD, we don’t want it!”

John laughed, and Martha smiled thinly, and all of the sudden there was complete silence. A heartbeat later, two heads popped out of the doorway, eyes huge. The younger, a curly-haired girl, shrieked, “Jacky?”

The older, a teenage boy with a dusting of freckles, tackled him in a hug the next second and shouted, “Why are you here? Dad will flay you!”

Martha burst out laughing, and John chuckled, and Hercules was smiling, and suddenly it was a big group hug with Mary and Henry and Martha, and John felt so accepted and _home._

They sank to the floor, still tangled in each others’ arms, just trying to soak in the moment as much as possible. Their laughter died down, and they just stayed there, huddled, until Henry asked, “But really, what are you doing here?”

John sat back and they all split apart, still sitting in the middle of the hallway, Hercules standing awkwardly behind them. “I came to make amends with Dad. It… kind of worked.”

Martha snorted. “It worked. Don’t sell yourself short, he’s just too much of an asshole to apologize properly.”

John sighed and shook his head. “You’d think I’d be used to that by now. You know, after literally twenty two years.”

Mary raised her hand tentatively and asked, “So are you coming home now?”

Martha looked at John, her expression carefully neutral. John blew out a long breath, guilt settling heavy in his chest. “Not… yet.” Mary’s face fell, and John reached out to take her hand. “I have to go find someone first, but I’ll be back once I’ve got everything sorted out.”

Mary peeked up at him. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

After he’d said goodbye and Martha walked them out, she stopped him at the door, giving him an imploring look.

John smiled sadly and pulled her into a tight hug. “I know. I’ll come see you. And I’ll call you a lot. Promise.”

She held him at arm’s length for a long moment. Then she nodded and pushed him away gently. “Go find your boy.”

* * *

 

Lafayette didn’t ask for details, and Hercules didn’t say much. He did stop John in front of the van, though, put a hand on his shoulder, and said, “That took strength. Good job, kid.”

John laughed awkwardly and looked down at his shoes. “Thanks.”

Their next destination was New York, and John could feel his stomach turn at the thought of what was to come. Confronting his father may have been petrifying, but talking to Alex would be downright _painful._

Plus, he had barely given any thought to Lafayette, but by that point he was too anxious to think about anything more than how many hours he had left before he saw Alex again.

It was already late when they set out from Charleston, so they stopped a couple hours later, and resolved to get up early again in order to drive the 12 hours to New York in one day.

As they settled into bed, John felt a sense of melancholy settle over him at having to take in yet another unfamiliar ceiling as he fell asleep. It had only been two weeks, but he’d long since grown tired of being on the road.

He slept fitfully and woke up at three in the morning, unable to fall back asleep. The foreign ceiling sent a shiver of unease down his spine, so he got up and paced around his room in the suite until there came a soft knock on the door and Lafayette stuck their head in, squinting.

“Qu’est-ce tu fais?,” they mumbled. He shrugged. They rolled their eyes and stepped inside the room, closing the door behind themself, then padded over to him and wrapped their arms around him. They rested their head against the crook of his neck and grumbled incoherently for a few moments. John eventually made out, “You will be fine. It will all be fine. Go to sleep.”

John sighed and returned the hug, closing his eyes. They smelled like vanilla and smoke. “I just can’t see it being alright. This won’t… I fucked up really bad, Laf. I don’t know how to atone for that.”

“Tu n’as besoin pas,” they murmured, then released him and pushed him towards his bed. “Sleep. You do not want to be tired tomorrow.”

“If I’m tired I won’t have the energy to worry so much.”

“You are stupid. Go back to sleep.”

John smiled and felt himself relax a little. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” Lafayette said, turning to leave. They hesitated a moment at the door, glancing back at him, like they didn’t really want to go. _“Bonne nuit.”_

“Night.”

The next morning, neither of them said a word as Herc brewed coffee, Laf fried eggs, John packed up, and they all got back on the road.

John was rifling through his belongings, looking for _The Foundation Trilogy_ and wondering if he’d left it in a hotel room somewhere, when he came up with his sketchbook. He’d nearly forgotten about it, amidst the chaos of loneliness and Hercules and Lafayette and his dad. He flipped through it briefly, stopping when he got to the few pages of sketches of Alex. He smiled a little, happily.

They weren’t his best work—they’d been done quickly—but they captured Alex’s likeness accurately. And he was beautiful. Despite all his anxiety and trepidation and uncertainty, John couldn’t wait to see him again.

* * *

 

A few hours later, they passed a sign reading: _MOUNT VERNON NEXT EXIT._ John almost jumped out of the car.

“Take that exit!”

“What? Why?” Lafayette shouted, even as they crossed over three lanes and hit the curb getting onto the ramp.

John was quiet for a moment, unsure. What _had_ possessed him to do that? “A hunch,” he decided on.

Hercules scoffed. “You two are the worst. John, if you keep traveling with us, I’m taking over driving.”

“You are _not,”_ Lafayette asserted, offended.

John chuckled and said, “Alex’s parents live in Mount Vernon. Figure if he decided to come back here, it’d be better to stop and see than go all the way to New York and have to come back.”

“Fine, fine, that’s reasonable,” Hercules agreed after a pause, and Lafayette laughed.

As they reached the more urban part of the town, John began to recognize the streets, and while he didn’t remember the way to the Washingtons’ house…

“Turn here,” he said, and Lafayette pulled into the parking lot of the diner where John and Alex first met. At the very least he could ask if they’d seen him around. And if he _did_ see him—John’s heart was already racing, but in a much more pleasant way than the day before. He wanted to see Alex, talk to him, (touch him, kiss him), and he was thrilled.

“What is this?” Lafayette asked, craning their neck to read the sign above the door.

“The place we met,” John said faintly, steeling himself. If this was it, if this was where it all came to an end… He took a deep breath and scanned the windows for any sign of Alex, or the waitress who’d served them, or anything, and then—

And then.

John’s eyes caught on the curve of a back, the color of hair, the set of shoulders. The familiar laptop. The arch of a nose.

His heart stopped and accelerated all at once, his blood rushing in his ears, he couldn’t breathe but his lungs were too big for his ribs, he couldn’t think but his thoughts streamed past in a nonsensical torrent. It was _him._

And then everything fell silent, save for one thought: _Alex._

“John?” Hercules asked, sounding nervous.

John didn’t— _couldn’t_ —take his eyes from Alex, hunched over his laptop, typing furiously, as he answered in barely a whisper, “It’s him.”

“Oh.” Lafayette’s voice was small, trying very hard not to be upset, and at that John ripped his gaze away to glance at them. They were looking at him strangely—longing and sad and glad and bitter all at once. John felt oddly like he was betraying them, but he still hadn’t figured out what he wanted to do about that.

John couldn’t seem to drop their gaze, though, and before he could check himself, he murmured, “Don’t assume… this is an ending.”

Lafayette’s expression was still troubled, but their lips quirked up in a smile, and… On a whim, and with a glance to Hercules (who was smirking knowingly), John leaned in quickly and pecked them on the lips.

He pulled back, and Lafayette opened their mouth as if to speak, but then they just nodded.

Hercules punched John’s arm lightly. “Hey. You got this.”

John bit his lip and nodded, then turned back to look at Alex, who, miraculously, hadn’t moved. “Okay.” He glanced back to them, Herc and Laf, together and supportive and perfect, and nodded again, decisively. “Okay.”

And then he opened the door and stepped out of the van.

The diner looked exactly as he remembered it—like it had time-traveled directly from the fifties, except for the rainbow flag in the window. The bell rang with the same tinny song as it had when he’d first walked in, and the layout hadn’t changed a bit. The counters, the scattered booths, the tiny two-person table near the back with the man he loved sitting _right there._

Alex was facing the door. He hadn’t looked up, and his face was half-obscured by his laptop screen, but John’s heart still skipped a couple beats seeing him.

He hesitated for a long moment before slowly making his way around the other tables, skirting the barstools, and stopping five feet from Alex’s table.

His heart was beating so hard he couldn’t hear himself think.

He stood, frozen, for a full ten seconds before he could take the last few steps to Alex’s table. He quietly pulled out the chair across from Alex and sat down. Alex looked exhausted but ethereal, no less wonderful and vivacious than when John had last seen him. He could cry.

Alex didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t even notice him. He just kept typing and sipping his coffee, heedless. John opened his mouth to say something—he didn’t know what, probably something stupid like “hey”—but his mouth and throat were too dry to make a sound. He swallowed once, then again, tried to collect his thoughts, and then—

“Hey, last time I saw you guys like this, Freckles here got punched,” said a cheerful voice.

John looked up, alarmed, like a deer in the headlights, at the same waitress who’d dragged him and Alex out of this establishment the first time they met. He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t think, because when he looked back to Alex…

Alex was staring at him almost like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. John didn’t know what to _say,_ didn’t want to mess this up, didn’t want to—

And then Alex smiled, slow and perfect, and John didn’t think he needed words anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French translation:
> 
> “Nous avons été d'accord que... tu devrais choisir toi-même, après tu décides que faire à propros de Alex.” - “We agreed that... you should choose yourself, after you decided what to do about (on the subject of) Alex.”
> 
> I don't usually include these, but I didn't want Google translate fucking up such an important line.
> 
> Next chapter: the epilogue.


	20. Epilogue - One Year Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.

“Have you considered how cheesy this is?” Alex asked.

“Every day,” John replied, flashing him a dazzling smile. Alex was left reeling for a second, a goofy grin spreading across his face. “It’s why I wanted to do it.”

Alex snorted. “Of course it was.”

“Listen, it’s our anniversary, dumbass. Let me do nice things for you.” John looked away from him, back to the road. His hands tightened on the steering wheel of the new-used car, narrowing his eyes at the traffic in front of them. Henry Laurens had hesitantly started funding him again a few months ago, though he’d paid for John to transfer to Columbia for the school year way back in July. John, with some coaxing and help from Alex, had bought himself a car and a new phone, put a security deposit in for their now-shared apartment, then put everything else into savings.

Alex smiled as he remembered all that had happened over the past year—how far they’d come. From being nervous, lonely wrecks to tentatively restarting their relationship, to going to school together, to moving in with each other. It felt crazy that it had all happened so fast, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Alex watched the road signs as John took the exit to Seattle, their destination a whole year ago. It felt silly and trivial, going back and finishing the journey now, but when John had told him about his idea (and subsequent plans) back in April, eyes bright and with an excited little smile, Alex hadn’t been able to say no.

“It’s got some sort of poetic meaning to it, I think,” John mused as they rumbled into the more urban center of the city. “Finishing what we started, after all this time. Waiting until the perfect moment to go find what we were missing.”

Alex rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I regret you ever taking that Romantic poetry class. You’re a law major. Where did you even fit that in?”

John shrugged, glancing at him. “Dunno. Herc said that the teacher was interesting, so I took it.”

“How does Herc know that? He never went to Columbia!”

John winked mysteriously. “He has connections.”

Meeting Hercules and Lafayette had been quite the experience. The first thing Lafayette had to say was,  _ “Parlez-vous français?” _ and, when Alex nodded, they’d pulled him in close and shot off a long and vicious threat on his life if he were to ever hurt John, all while Hercules stood by, amusedly confused.

The next weirdest thing had been John and Laf’s…  _ thing, _ which, honestly, Alex couldn’t blame either of them for. John had the sort of alluring charm of a sunset, or a starry night, and Laf was just gorgeous. He’d sort of taken it in stride, and as long as it didn’t change what he and John had, it was fine. They made each other happy, and John being happy made him happy. It worked.

The four of them ended up spending a  _ lot _ of time together, and Alex didn’t find himself hating it. Hercules was fun but responsible, more amiable than he initially seemed, and Lafayette was adventurous, reckless, yet shockingly wise despite the front they put up. Alex quickly found in them the kind of friends who, until Burr started treating him like a human, he’d been convinced were completely fictional.

“Look,” John breathed, leaning forward and craning his neck, staring reverently up at the Space Needle.

Alex peered up at it as well, noting the rainbow flag perched on top with a smile. Pride was soon, and they intended to go to it. It felt weird not having Herc and Laf there with them, but Alex was sort of glad that this was just a  _ them _ thing. It was nice to have John entirely to himself for a week.

Seattle was a vibrant, lively city, and Alex couldn’t wait to take John all over it. He couldn’t wait to spend this week with him.

George and Martha had been fussing over Alex all week, making sure he was ready to go, and okay, and not going to freak out because of last year. That was the other thing—if meeting Herc and Laf had been weird, introducing John to his parents was utterly surreal. At first, of course, they’d been wary of him; any parent would be worried about the guy who broke their son’s heart. After a lot of talking and…  _ very _ thinly veiled warnings, though, John had managed to win them over.

Every time Alex saw the three of them together, his heart swelled. It was stupidly cheesy and overblown, but it was true. It was the wondrous amalgamation of the people he loved most coming together and getting along, and creating something of a family of their own. So really, seriously cheesy.

John glanced at him as traffic stopped again, momentarily, and smiled curiously. “You good?”

Alex blinked, then nodded, realizing he’d been staring. “’Course.” He kissed John quickly, just because he could, then nodded again. “Never better.”

John grinned and turned back to the road only when someone honked at him. Alex basked in the attention, in the moment, in their everything.

They’d debated staying at a shitty motel, just for memory’s sake, but quickly decided against it, seeing as they had the money to afford somewhere nice and neither felt like sleeping on a lumpy bed. The room they ended up getting was clean and modern, all black and white with a balcony overlooking the shoreline. Alex dropped his bags on the floor and went immediately to the railing, leaning over it to look down at the street below.

He hummed happily when John came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Alex’ waist, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Don’t fall,” John said in his ear.

Alex laughed. “If I do now, you’re coming with me.”

Alex couldn’t see him, but he knew John was rolling his eyes as he said, “Morbid, but fair. Let’s not think about that right now.”

“Hm?”

“Let’s just be happy, yeah?” John nipped gently at his ear, tone playful.

Alex smirked. They could do that, yeah. Being happy. In fact, he thought, they were getting pretty good at it. He turned around in John’s arms to grasp his face properly, leaning in for a kiss. John’s lips were a little chapped but soft all the same, and the way he moved to press Alex against the railing was perfect.

They kissed lazily for a bit, John eventually pulling back only to spin Alex around and pick him up. Alex laughed in surprise, lunging forward and throwing his arms around John’s neck to keep his balance. John snickered, kissing him wherever he could reach—his neck, his shoulders, his collarbone—as he walked them back into their room.

Alex sighed softly and pulled back, putting a finger to John’s lips. “We still have like, touristing to do, don’t we?”

John shrugged, not even bothering to hide the fact that he was staring at Alex’ mouth. “We have a whole week.”

Alex would be exasperated, but this was John, and he really didn’t want to stop. So he kissed John again, and again, and reveled in it.

There were several best things about falling in love with John Laurens: he was beautiful; not in a flawless, shallow way, but in the way that a mosaic is—all broken glass and bright colors and holy imagery. His lips tasted like warmth and home and a little bit of cinnamon, and they moved delightfully and refreshingly. He made art with his hands and with his voice and with his mind, and it was almost as lovely as he was.

The very best part, though, was that he loved Alex back. The very best part was the adoring looks, sometimes brief and almost an afterthought, sometimes long and meaningful, like Alex had put the stars in the sky. The very best part was having those hands make art on his skin, always worshipful, like John couldn’t quite believe what he was doing. The very best part was seeing him smile, and be so full of joy that it was overflowing.

The very best part, Alex thought, was that sometimes, it was because of him.

That wasn’t to say it hadn’t been a long, hard road to get to where they were, but Alex cherished their journey. If he could love John at his highest, he could love him at his lowest. There was something about that sureness that Alex felt should scare him. Instead, it just made him unbearably hopeful, unbelievably gleeful.

There was something about  _ John _ that did that all on its own, and if it took everything they had gone through to get to it, so be it. Alex wouldn’t trade it for the  _ world. _

“Do you ever regret anything about us?” John had asked him once.

Alex hadn’t replied for several moments, looking troubled. “The only thing I could ever regret is that I didn’t meet you sooner.”

“You sap!” John had laughed.

Alex had smiled, a little faintly. “I guess.”

“I love you, you know that?” John took his hand, tone quieter. “Even when you’re being romantic and I can’t handle it.”

Alex really smiled then, and met John’s eyes, all dark and searching and important. He thought about everything they’d done together, everything they had yet to do. He thought about how much the future thrilled him, and how  _ new _ that concept was. “I love you, too. More than anything else. I love you.”

And John had smiled, and laughed, and kissed him, and it was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I have said many times over the course of writing this story, I could never have made it this far without every single one of you: my readers. Posting this last chapter feels... surreal, even though I know there's a mountain of editing and logistics and one-shots to go through afterwards. It just feels like something out of a dream. This being my first ever really FINISHED work (that I feel good about, at least), it feels simultaneously like I just won a war and like I just lost... everything. It's such an odd feeling of elation and purposelessness, despite the future that is laying itself out before me as I write this. What do you do when you've finished something you've been writing for a year? In this case, you thank each and every single person who helped you make this silly, unexpected dream a reality. Chief among these: my beta, or @betwixtthemoon on tumblr. They have made this 8,237-mile journey so much lighter and so much less daunting. Taking this on with them by my side has been amazing. Thank you. I'd also like to thank all of you, especially those who left me wonderful comments and messages along the way. Whether you left one or twenty, I appreciate all of them. Your words mean the world to me. Regardless of whether you left a comment or not, I'd like to thank everyone who took the time to read this and give thought to my writing. You make the load a million times lighter. It's been an honor to take this journey with all of you. I love you.
> 
> Alright. Now: editing. I have to revise this monster, move scenes around, reread my old writing, etc. I'll be posting one-shots and everything as I do that, and I'll make sure to post something to let everyone know when I'm done with it. If you for some reason want to reread this at that point, go for it! I may have taken out or added scenes, changed plot lines, or just thrown in extra phrases that improve the piece. If you don't feel like rereading the whole 70,000-word monstrosity that this is, cool! Do you, and I hope you thoroughly enjoyed the story the first time through. Thank you, no matter which path you choose to take going forward.
> 
> If I write too much more, this note will be longer than this chapter, so let me wrap this up: I'd just like to thank all of you again. There are so many things I wouldn't have been able to do without your continued support and love, and I just want you to know that you've all quite literally changed my life. Thank you thank you thank you. Here's to the future.
> 
> As always, you can find me at my [tumblr](https://2000-bees-in-very-comfy-pajamas.tumblr.com/).


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